The Interview
by campbellleo
Summary: AU JamFic. Angst, love, and drama! New chapter, '17: Extensive Injuries', is up.
1. Chapter One: Knives

Jim sighed. The client's account he was looking at - Mr. Boughton, a reliable customer - was seemingly the same as it had been last month. And the month before that. For two long years, Jim had been staring his computer screen, making small talk to people he didn't like, and putting up with Michael. This had only been a temporary job, until he could raise enough to make a decent start on college, but with the rent on his shared apartment, and the cost of living, he had barely saved a pittance.

Michael had been more excitable than usual this morning. He had received a call from Packer earlier; something which always seemed to bring out the worst in him. When the rest of the office heard the unmistakable cry emanating from Michael's desk ("Packster! Who did you bang today, P-Dog?") there was a noticeable groan from several desks.

Michael had exited his office, looking like a guilty puppy. He sidled up to Jim's desk. Jim's best efforts to ignore him failed, and he resignedly hung up the phone from his non-existent phone call. At first, Michael's failed attempts at humour and political correctness were refreshing breaks from the office monotony he had experienced in most of his past jobs; but now, it seemed like the apathy of his co-workers was rubbing off on him. And Dwight, who used to amuse him unintentionally, was becoming unbearable, and Jim didn't know how to deal with him, or Michael. He used to snigger under his breath every time Michael made some offhand comment which would have been more at place coming from a twelve-year-old. Now, he just sighed, and turned to Michael, plastering what he hoped seemed like a mildly interested expression on his face.

"So, Jim-buktu, are you pumped about getting a new receptionist?" Michael asked Jim, with a trademark conspicuous wink.

Jim became a little more interested all of a sudden. He hadn't minded the last receptionist - who, as it turns out, was just a little too normal to be able to take the atmosphere of the office - but the promise of something to break the never-ending cycle of office life was hard to ignore. Suddenly, he was reminded of the last interviews that Michael had conducted.

"Michael. You aren't planning anything... special... for the interview, are you?" Jim asked nervously. He had the vivid image of the last round of interviews for the position of Accounting Manager; Jim could clearly picture an unsuccessful applicant running out of the room with what looked like whipped cream in her eye. Jim had purposefully not asked about that one.

"Oh, maybe. You know me, Jim: I am a flamboiled man!"

"Michael - you remember what happened last time, don't you?"

Michael's face fell. He had had to deal with Corporate; something which he intensely hated to do. for good reason: Jan Levinson-Gould, his superior, generally failed to see the humour in his managerial style.

"Well, not this time, Jimmy James. I have perfected my act. I was watching that show, Magician's Secrets, on HBO last night, and I came up with the perfect act! Which reminds me - do you know if there are knives in the kitchen sharp enough to stick in my office wall?"

Oh, crap. Jim knew he would have to avert this disaster. The onus of trying to prevent Michael from making any real disasters generally fell on him; while the rest of the office loathed or disliked Michael in varying degrees (with a notable exception in Dwight), none realised what the office would be like with a new boss. He had experienced the truly average workplace, and it wasn't something he really wished to return to. It was one of the reason he didn't quit a year ago.

"Ahh... Michael. Do you think you could take me on a sales call today? For old time's sake?" Jim rushed, grasping at straws.

"Who would do the interviews?"

"Uh... Toby?" Jim replied without thinking, instantly realising his mistake.

"Ugh. I don't think I can be that cruel, even to people I don't know."

"OK." Jim thought desperately. What could he do? He didn't particularly relish the thought of calling Jan before Michael impaled some defenceless girl on his wall, but he knew he would have to resort to that rather than letting him go though with it. His mind alighted on an idea. "Michael, you really are a great boss. You know what I think is so great? The way you combine comedy with investment in human capital."

Michael's blank look was quickly replaced by one of supposed recognition. "Yes. I have always prided myself on... that."

"Well," Jim continued, "I was wondering if you would let me feel what it is like to be in your shoes. I mean, I hope one day when you have moved on to bigger and better places, I could possibly try to fill your place."

"Well, that is very hopeful of you Jim. But I don't think anyone could really fill my place-"

"Oh, I know," Jim cut in, correcting his mistake. "I mean, I hope that I could learn off you, and maybe one day create myself in your own image."

"Well, of course you would feel like that, Jim. It is natural."

"So, I was wondering whether I could conduct the interviews, just for today."

"That's... but what about my tricks?" Michael asked, clearly torn.

"You know who would love to see them? Dwight. Besides, all great magicians need to practice before performing to a real audience."

"You're right!" Michael's smiled. "So, the girls are coming in at two."

"Girls?" Jim groaned inwardly. He should have suspected. "Michael, did you call back any guys for this job?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because women are better at it." Michael's expression looked troubled for a moment, and then cleared. "And that is not sexist. Because it is a true compliment. People like to hear a sultry woman's voice when they ring a paper company." Michael smiled, and triumphantly returned to his office, leaving Jim staring at his closed door.

Jim let his breath out. It looked like he had averted this disaster, for a while at least. He momentarily hoped Michael wouldn't poke out one of Dwight's eyes, but not with much conviction. His mind turned to the imminent interviews. Well, he had asked for an end to the monotony, hadn't he?

**A/N: **_Well, this is my first FanFic since some embarrassing stabs at the age of twelve. Sorry if my attempt at the Jim/Michael dialogue is a little odd. I am not really a comedic writer, and obviously inferior to the writers of this great show, but I wanted to make it a little more true to the style of The Office. Reviews of all shapes and sizes are obviously welcome. Next chapter soon!_


	2. Chapter Two: Résumés

Two o'clock came more quickly than Jim would have expected. I was amazing how much having something real to do made the time in this place go faster. He had made a call to security to make sure that Pete would give the interviewees some directions, closed the Boughton sale, and it was already one thirty. He figured there would be time to quickly browse through the résumés before anyone would arrive.

He knocked on the door of Michael's office. "Come in!" Michael called cheerfully.

"Michael. I was wondering if I could have a quick look at the résumés. You know, to familiarise myself with the applicants."

"You mean the girls?" Jim winced. "Hey - you are following in my footsteps already! I was just looking myself."

Jim glanced at his desk, and instantly wished he hadn't. The three or four applicants were spread out over Michael's desk. Evidently, in choosing the 'girls', Michael had asked for photo résumés. The pile consisted purely of good looking young women. Women Jim assumed would have absolutely no clue what they were doing. Michael scooped them up and passed them to Jim.

"Uh… thanks. Do you think I could see the other ones that you turned down? You know, just in case you missed a good one?"

"Trying to undermine my authority already, Jim? Well, you always were the ambitious one. No, I have already thrown the ugly ones out."

"Ugly?"

"In terms of employability, I mean."

"You didn't think that you might need them if none of these work out?"

"Why wouldn't they? They look great! Uh-" Michael was saved from explaining that one when the door to his office burst open. Dwight emerged, looking flushed, and angry. He threw Jim a typical dirty look, before rounding on Michael.

"Michael! I was on lunch. I heard you gave Jim the position of interviewer. I would like to formally object, in my capacity as Assistant Regional Manager."

"On what grounds?"

"That it should be me! I have extensive people skills, I am very good at finding people's weaknesses. And I can spot a drug addict from over three hundred feet."

"Dwight, that's just… No. Jim has already been very kind to me. What have you done?. And Jim deserves this," he hastily added.

"I helped you with your magic show! You stabbed me in the arm!"

"No, you moved. If you could just keep still, it wouldn't have… look, I have important things to do. Can the both of you, just go?" Dwight stormed out, and Jim followed him. As he closed the door behind him, he saw Michael trying to balance a knife on his finger, and stifled a chuckle.

Jim was left in blissful silence as Dwight refused to talk to him, for once. The remainder of the office maintained their usual distance. Jim felt a momentarily wave of loneliness, but ruthlessly suppressed it. He generally accepted that he was separate from the office. He didn't really have much trouble making friends outside of these walls, even though it had been months since his last girlfriend; he had experienced a bad break-up and wasn't really prepared to put himself on the line again so soon.

Still, he had his roommate Mark to trash talk with, and besides, he could always talk about anything more serious with his sisters. He shook his head, and resolved to at least learn the names of the people he was about to interview.

The first on the pile was Faye Loritzen. He had to admit she was good looking: her blonde hair framed a face dominated by large red, kissable lips. He turned the page quickly, reminding himself that unlike Michael, he had a few scruples. Plus, he wasn't sure if he would wish the constant attentions of the male staff of this office on anyone; Michael's antics had been bad enough with the last receptionist, who had been decidedly plain.

Faye had, as Jim expected, no experience in this line of work. She had previous experience in a hairdresser's downtown. Jim put her on his desk, and picked up the next candidate.

Dana was equally attractive; but realising the hypocrisy of mentally berating Michael for being lascivious and then ogling the women himself, Jim quickly turned to check out her credentials. She had apparently been working for a couple of years at a similar establishment in England.

Jim smiled. He had used this tactic in a couple of résumés of his own: putting ideal past experience in another country down, knowing the hirer would never make a long distance to confirm it. Other than that, she was equally as unqualified as Faye.

The third applicant was different. She was cute, in a subtle way. Her red curls framed a pale face, and an awkward, self-conscious smile that had Jim smiling before he noticed himself. He went to turn the page, but was somehow caught again by her smiling eyes. She seemed familiar, but Jim was sure he had never met her. He checked her name: Pamela Beesly. It seemed to suit her. Pam.

"Jim. The girls are here!" Michael announced, interrupting his reverie. Michael hurried to the door, obviously hoping to appear chivalrous by holding it open. Jim followed, hands in his pockets. Girls? He had called them all in at the same time? What were they going to do, a group interview?

The elevator at the end of the hall dinged conspicuously, and Pete ushered four women out of the elevator. As they reached the door one by one, Michael waited expectantly. As the women reached the door, Michael began what sounded very much like a rehearsed speech. "Welcome to Dunder-Mifflin ladies! I am Michael, and I will be your boss for today. And maybe for tomorrow," he added. "If you are lucky. Well, don't you all look great!"

Jim was momentarily silenced when he made eye contact with Pam. She looked exactly like her photo. She was dressed in a pink cardigan, which somehow looked better than the other girls' slightly less conservative attire. Jim tried to smile reassuringly at her, as she shifted uncomfortably under Michael's gaze. He roused himself from his look, which may have been slightly longer than strictly necessary. "Why don't you guys follow me into the conference room? I am Jim, and I will be doing the interviews today."

"Ah, Jim. Don't you mean you will be helping me with the interviews today?" Michael interrupted, obviously less enthusiastic now he had met the 'girls'. Dana's red dress was more revealing than an office environment demanded.

"Could you excuse me for a moment?" Jim asked. He ushered them into the foyer, and onto the grey lounge, and pulled Michael aside. "Michael, I can't be expected to grow like this."

"Like what?" Michael asked innocently.

"You have to give me room to stretch my wings, Michael. I have to be able to do this on my own." Jim realised how ridiculous he sounded, but hoped Michael would buy it. In truth, he didn't really want any of these women subjected to Michael straight away today. He didn't want anyone scared off by Michael. Especially Pam, he added, then dismissed himself as being foolish. Michael looked reluctant.

"Maybe I could just interview one? What about the one in a red dress? You know, just to show you how it is done."

Jim relented, nodding. "Only if you promise me that I can do the rest alone by myself," he added. Michael, nodded, and quickly rejoined the women.

"Dana? Would you like to join Jim and I in the conference room?" Michael asked. Jim noted the awkward silence between the other women, and gave Pam one last grimace before following Michael into the room.


	3. Chapter Three: Bra Sizes

**Disclaimer: **_I own The Office. I created it. Sue me NBC! I dare you ;)_

"Please, sit down, take a seat." Michael was exuberant. Jim sighed, for what felt like the thousandth time that day. He could tell were this was going: after a couple of years in the office, he knew the peculiarities to Michael's courting ritual, a fact he was not proud of in the slightest. It generally ended up in tears; despite his frequent claims, Jim doubted Michael had had a serious girlfriend in the years they had known each other.

Stage one was what Jim liked to call the 'fawning stage'. He was witnessing it now. Michael would be overly generous, offering more than necessary and acting as if it were natural. It would be slightly funny if Jim didn't know they were heading straight for disaster.

"Would you like something to drink? One of our humble world-famous coffees, perhaps?" Michael beamed at Dana. "Jim, would you grab her a coffee?"

"I'm learning, Michael." Jim said firmly. He had learnt by now that Michael could usually be diverted by a few well-placed firm words - he obviously preferred asking someone else than confrontation. "I will ask Dwight."

"Great." Michael replied offhandedly, turning back to Dana. Jim got up, and leant out of the door of the conference room. Dwight was on a call. Jim smiled, and then began to bark orders in an official tone.

"Schrute! Two coffees, and make it snappy." Dwight only scoffed in reply. "Are you disobeying direct orders from Michael, Schrute?" Jim said in what he hoped was a dangerously low voice.

"No! But," Dwight started, and then clearly had second thoughts. "Fine!" he shot back, as he stormed into the kitchen. Jim smiled, satisfied, and took his seat again. The was an uncomfortable silence; Jim didn't want to know why. He glanced at Dana.

Dana was in her thirties. She was attractive, in a too obvious way; her dress was not exactly the type of thing you would wear to an office. Her cleavage spilled out of the top, and it was accentuated by her not-so-subtle habit of leaning over her knees. She definitely did not look apprehensive. And she definitely did not look like a receptionist.

"So Dana," Michael began again, "I am Michael Scott, and I will be your boss as you work in this wonderful little office. Although, I don't really like the term boss... I would prefer for you to think of me as a sort of coach. And also a dad. And a boyfriend."

Dana's smile almost slipped, but she managed to recover. "Uh, sure," she replied.

"Great. Well, I will just rush through a couple of standard questions if you don't mind. Firstly, age?"

"Twenty-nine." Jim tried to hide his disbelief, but he doubted he was very successful. Dana was clearly well into her thirties. Michael, of course, lapped it up.

"Twenty-nine? Well, you are younger than you look!" He said, enthusiastically, but then realised his mistake. "I mean, you are not... that. You look young. Young," he finished lamely. "Right, next question. Marital status?"

Again Dana's smile faltered. If it wasn't for the dress, he might have felt sorry for her. "Single," she replied laconically.

"Great! Now, what is your favourite place to eat dinner?"

Jim started to tune out. He could already tell how this was going to end. He supposed he did feel sorry for the woman. She had obviously planned on playing on some lascivious old man in order to get a job; but she was evidently unprepared for Michael. She had got a lot more than she had bargained for. Michael was inching his chair a little close to her every question. Yes, he decided. He really did feel sorry for her. Maybe she will have learnt something of a lesson by the end of this interview, though.

"What?!" Dana screeched. Jim sat forward, and suddenly wished he had been paying more attention to the conversation.

"It is a standard question! Look, it is on my sheet. We need to know for medical reasons."

"I am not giving you my bra size, you pervert! I am getting the hell out of here." Jim tried to give her an embarrassed smile on the way out, but he was too amused. Michael had tried to pass off 'bra size' as a legitimate question? He had to give it to the man; he certainly wasn't shy. And he did appear to be remorseful (although whether it was because he had scared the woman half to death, or because he had lost the chance of a date Jim couldn't tell)... his face had fallen, and an awkward silence descended on the room.

"Um... do you want me to do the rest of the interviews?"

"Just, send them all home. You know what? I have a lot of work to do anyway. I will be in my office. And I don't want to be disturbed." Michael shot back sulkily. Michael quickly walked out of the conference room and slammed his office door.

"We need a receptionist Michael," Jim called through the closed door. "Just let me interview them by myself in the conference room?"

Michael's voice came out muffled. "Fine, Jim."

Jim let out a breath: now, at least, he had a chance of getting some work done. He gave himself a moment to gather his thoughts, and walked back into the foyer. He was greeted by two uncomfortable glances, from Faye and the other girl he had yet to discover the name of. Strangely enough, Pam (who didn't seem - at first glance - to be the type to lightly pass over the fact that the last interviewee left the room yelling 'Pervert!') seem to be the least uncomfortable. Their eyes met, and she gave him an inexplicable look of understanding.

As much as he wanted to get to the bottom of this, Jim knew it was not the best idea to call her in for an interview right now. He ached to find out why he felt a strange attraction to her; she was nothing like his past girlfriends, really, and he didn't even know her. His intrigue, however, was trumped by his common sense. He planned to leave the most promising applicant until last (regardless of the fact that he hadn't checked her credentials, Pam looked to be the only one who may not have been purely hired on an aesthetic basis) in the hope that he would be able to keep her back on to work the phones for the rest of the afternoon, and get a feel for the job. He knew it wasn't rocket science, but he also knew that the first day was less daunting after a trial run. And so, he hoped to leave Pam for last, so he wouldn't have get her to stay as the rest of the women were fruitlessly interviewed.

Nevertheless, Jim realised how completely irrational he was being, acting on a feeling, so he tried to keep an open mind as he called up the next applicant, Faye. She was a little younger than Dana, and similarly attractive. At least she was dressed somewhat reasonably, he thought to himself as he ushered her into the hot seat.

"Hi, Faye, I'm Jim. I am doing the interviews today. Firstly I would like to apologise for what you may have heard from the last interview. But, be rest assured, I will protect you from our boss," he joked.

"I shouldn't need protection!" she huffed, missing his tone. Jim chalked it up to nervousness, though, and nodded, going on with the interview.

"So, Faye: why do you think you would be good for this job?" Jim asked, falling back on the stock interview question.

"Well, okay," Faye began, launching into what was obviously a preprepared speech. "I am totally a people person. I get on with everyone I have ever met. Except, I don't like sleazy old guys... and I am really looking for a job close to town, and I think this would be great for me. I really love phones. I am practically on the phone all the time that I am home anyway, so this is the perfect job. I mean, that is what..."

Jim found himself tuning out again. He knew that he could not let this woman into the office and anywhere near Kelly, or he would create a disaster. He figured she would have the same problems that the company had had with Kelly; she had continually put of calls from reception for personal calls, and had been far too chatty with people (the majority of which did not wish to hear about the latest celebrity gossip). That is why Kelly had been moved to customer service; she had a habit of making people give up on filing complaints.

"Faye, that is great. I was wondering if you had any other qualifications?"

"Well," she said in a tone that said had expected to be hired by now, "not really."

"Great. Well, we will call you. Thanks for coming in today," Jim finished, fully aware that he was being perhaps a little too callous. But, in his defence, it was already past three, and if he was going to give whoever he hired a bit of experience, he had to move things along. He stood up, motioning for Faye to do the same.

"I got the job, right?"

"We aren't deciding on the spot," he lied awkwardly. "You will hear from us either way."

"Um, okay. Well, it was nice meeting you." She said, as Jim followed her out.

"Sure."

Jim once again found himself in the foyer with the two remaining girls. Whereas the girl Jim didn't know appeared nonchalant, Pam looked a little anxious. She gave him a pleading look. He felt bad for making her wait, but he figured that someone had to do it. Remembering his previous resolution, he checked his stack of résumés.

"Stacy? You're up." Jim gave the résumé a second glance. The girl was only 17! Granted, she looked a little older, but Jim shuddered to think why Michael would have picked out a girl this young... no, he really did _not _want to follow that line of thought through to its conclusion.

Jim tried to be nice. Stacy was obviously a drop-out, who was desperate for a steady job. She probably could have handled the job, but he knew it wasn't going to be any good for her in the long run. He himself has taken this job just as a temporary money earner, and that was two years ago. He inwardly resolved to start really thinking about his future; but focused his immediate attention back on the interview, knowing it could wait. It felt cruel to let Stacy down so quickly, but considering she wasn't going to get the job, it was best to let her down sooner rather than have her wait.

Jim gave her a few suggestions that he hoped didn't sound to morally righteous. Go to university. Start a career, not a job. He was fully aware how hypocritical he was being this time; he felt like he was talking to a past – albeit slightly more feminine – version of himself.

Stacy left deflated, but he hoped that she would take something from the interview. He knew how tempting it was to start on a small ladder, when it was too hard to reach the bottom rung on a big one. Jim shook himself. He was speaking in metaphors, and it creepily reminded him of Michael. It was time to get these interviews out of the way.

It was Pam's turn.

**A/N:**_Ooo! Ominous finish! Cliffhanger! Well, not really. Anyway! I actually had this chapter almost written, but my word processor (Microsoft Works) died, and I thought, screw it, and downloaded OpenOffice. And rewrote it. And I am a fair bit happier with this rewrite anyway. Yay for open source!_

_Also, while I am here, I am thankful for the reviews. I don't want to turn into one of those hold-you-for-review-ransom-in-order-to-get-updates, but it really does help_

_See you soon (hopefully)._


	4. Chapter Four: Answers

Pam sighed. She wasn't feeling very well. It was just her luck to get sick on the day of her big job interview. She had been fine all this weekend, and then- BAM! On Monday morning, she woke up feeling like a hardcore alcoholic. That was yesterday. By today, the cold had subsided, leaving only a slight headache, and a runny nose. Still, she felt incredibly tired, and she knew that it probably wasn't a great way to start a new job.

She tried to get excited about it. She had been sort of happy at first, when she spied an opening in the paper. She had been going to apply for an art course in the spring, but Roy had been dropping (what he assumed were subtle) hints that she should get another job. She had reluctantly caved to him, without them really having any conversation about it; it would probably be a stretch to keep them both going on just Roy's wage. She would have taken up some part-time work alongside, but she knew she wouldn't be able to handle the house, school and work at the same time; and Roy had begun to expect that of her. She didn't mind, not really... he wasn't very good at that sort of stuff anyway, she rationalised. Plus, he was her handyman. Never mind that his jobs may not be as constant as hers; he still pulled his weight around the house. At least, as long as Pam had time for the housework.

So Pam had withdrawn her application to the Academy of Arts, and instead gone job hunting. She figured it wouldn't be permanent anyway, just until Roy had a big enough wage to support them both, and she would get back to school. She was used to talking about her life like he was a given part of it, and had been for quite some time (she had even finally trained him out of interruptions like 'but what if we break up? Who will keep the dog?'). He was a staple.

And when she had spotted this job in paper, she had been excited. At least she would get to see some more of Roy. Lately, they only had busy week nights (Roy normally drifted off pretty early in front of 'the game') and week ends (one night of which Roy invariably spent with the guys). But now, they could talk on the way to and from work, and have lunch together everyday.

Roy hadn't exactly been thrilled by the idea to start off with. In fact, it took some serious cajoling before Pam managed to move Roy from the idea that they would be spending to much time together. She promised him that he would still be able to have lunch with the boys, and that she would eat upstairs with the rest of the office. He made her swear that she wasn't going to come downstairs during work hours. And then he let her apply.

Still, her excitement had sort of dwindled. Sure, it was close to Roy, but working on reception? It wasn't exactly stimulating. Maybe she would have time to do some drawing, she thought hopefully. It was besides the point: she needed work, and this paid well and she would save on the commute because she went with Roy. It was the job for her. For the moment.

Roy had had the decency of preparing her a little before she left for her interview. He had warned her not to take anything the boss Michael said seriously; that he was just weird guy who could usually be ignored. When Pam asked weird how, Roy looked at her for a moment and just said she would have to find out for herself. Roy also assured her that he wouldn't make a move on her; that he knew she was Roy's 'babe'. Pam cringed every time he talked of her possessively like that, but she _did_ appreciate the advice.

Pam had come in with Roy in his truck on Tuesday morning, and spent the majority of the morning shopping downtown Scranton. Admittedly, it wasn't exactly New York, but Pam found this cute little Russian faux-fur hat on sale, and bought it for herself as a confidence boosting gift. Hopefully she would ace the interview. She had to ace the interview. Or what else would she do? No, she told herself firmly, she _would_ ace the interview.

Strangely enough, when she made it back to the office, there were three other girls waiting in the foyer as well. As Pete ushered them into the elevator – with a bored 'here for the interview?' – they stood in awkward silence. Pam didn't know what exactly to expect, but remembered Roy warning her of Michael's eccentricities, and shrugged it off.

When she was greeted at the door, she picked out Michael straight away. The one that was staring at the red-dressed woman's chest. Great, she thought, I am once again defeated by my insistence to wear shirts which don't point directly to my cleavage. She had sat down defeated when red-dress was picked for the first interview. And when red-dress had stormed out yelling 'Pervert!', she had possibly been the slightest bit satisfied. It looked like someone hadn't been quite prepared for Michael.

The other guy who had introduced himself as Jim (Pam guessed that it maybe was Michael's second-in-command) gave her a strange look – well, she supposed she should have been more shocked by the pervert comment, but she _had_ been forewarned – but then proceeded to pick out every other applicant before her. Pam's stomach dropped every time she wasn't called. Even the teenager got called before her! She was considering whether or not she would be better off saving herself the humiliation by leaving, when Jim stuck his head around the corner, gave her a quick (but surprisingly warm) smile, and called "You're up, Miss Beesly!". He motioned for her to follow him. Well, this is it, thought Pam.

* * *

Jim led her into an enclosed room, and gestured to the chair opposite him. Pam noticed for the second time that day that he was cute; then immediately felt guilty. Roy had always said there was nothing wrong with finding other people attractive (he himself still occasionally pointed out a 'beauty') but she had always felt a little off, a little like it was cheating. Still, he _was_ cute. He was tall, lanky without really being skinny, and had entrancing green eyes. She shook herself. Now was definitely not the time.

"So, Miss Beesly," Jim started.

"Please, Pam will do." Pam interrupted.

"I am sorry, Beesly, but I don't know you well enough for first names yet, and as your superior I will call you whatever the hell I want!" Jim's face contradicted his authoritative words, and Pam couldn't suppress a small smile.

"Yes, sir." She replied with a small salute.

"That is much better. So how did you hear about the job?"

"Well, I saw it advertised in the paper, and since my friend Roy works here..." Pam trailed off. Friend? Why would she have said friend? It just kind of slipped out. She was sure it wasn't on purpose. She was going to correct herself, but it seemed to embarrassing. Shit. Well, she was sure everyone would find out soon enough anyway. "And ever since I have been a little girl, I have dreamed about answering phones for a medium sized paper reseller in Scranton."

"I hope that wasn't cheek, Beesly."

"No, sergeant."

"It had better not be. Now, where are we up to, Beesly? Ah, okay, it is time to sell yourself. What about you makes you more employable than, say, a woman who ran out on her interview? Or a high-school drop out?" Pam immediately felt at ease. That was all she was up against? Well, she guessed it was time to give Jim the Pam spiel. She would normally feel embarrassed about talking about herself so much; but Jim made it all seem like a extended joke, and she was more than ready to play along.

"Well, Jim, sir," she began, "I have _extensive_ people skills." Her exaggerated emphasis elicited a smile, and an interruption.

"And what exactly _are_ people skills, Beesly?"

"Well, sir, they mean I am used to handling jackasses. Can't you tell?" Jim obviously caught her inference, and played along.

"Are you calling me a jackass, Beesly? I'll have you know, insubordination does not rank high on my list of employable qualities. It is only just above 'displays of cleavage'."

"Well, I am glad I am wearing a cardigan, then," she replied. "Now, if you will let me continue; I am efficient, highly organised, I come forewarned of Michael's managerial style," (she had gambled with that last one, but the grin on Jim's face let her know she hadn't overstepped her bounds) "and most of all, I am great at answering phones."

"Really?"

"Oh, definitely."

"Well," Jim began with a straight face, "I am going to need to hear your trademark phone answer."

"My what?" Pam asked, confused.

"Your phone answer. I need to know what people are going to hear when they call Dunder-Mifflin, and get through to the wonderful Beesly. It is the first interaction that they will ever have with our company. As such, the way you answer the phone is of vital, if not paramount, importance. We cannot hire you on your taste in cardigans alone. So, let's hear it."

Pam nodded, mocking him with a simlarly serious face. She took a deep breath, and picked up an imaginary phone off the desk. "This is Pam, welcome to Dunder-Mifflin. How may I help you today?"

"Oh. My. God. That was horrible, Beesly. I have half a mind to send you home right now. However, since I am an incredibly lenient interviewer, I'll give you one last shot." He looked at her expectantly.

"What was wro-" Pam started, but was interrupted by him as he made a ringing phone sound. She stifled a laugh, and picked up her imaginary phone again. "You've reached Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam speaking."

Jim considered it, narrowing his eyes. "Well, it _is_ better. But what you have to realise is that this is a big decision. You will be saying this probably over fifty times a day, five days a week. Streamline it." He again made the sound of a ringing phone.

"Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam." She glanced up at Jim in mock hope.

"Perfect." Jim beamed at her. Pam was beginning to think she would like this job.

* * *

**A**\**N:**_Finally! Jam! Well, kind of.  
Oh, and, I hate to gush, but – reviews? They make me all warm and fuzzy, so thanks guys. Also: Pam's perspective was harder than I thought, but definitely fun. _

_I haven't forgotten Dwight! He is coming. Possible the first ever Jam prank next chapter. Be afraid!_


	5. Chapter Five: Revolutions

"Perfect." Jim could feel his smile, but couldn't help himself, not really. He was aware that he was flirting slightly with Pam, and he had tried to stop it; he just trying to be friendly. But every time that he smiled, he seem to smile for a little too long, and to make eye contact for a little to long, letting his eyes linger on hers for just longer than needed. Again, he berated himself for being a hypocrite: he had just thought Michael desperate for trying to crack on to an applicant. He knew the situations were different, but he resolved to be a little more professional for the rest of the interview.

It had gone even better than expected so far. Pam was funny, and even though he hadn't actually learnt of her experience or credentials yet, he could tell that she would easily be a competent receptionist. And what is better, she was obviously fun. He already felt like he had connected with her better than he ever had with any of his other office workers. And, being honest with himself, he had felt a twinge of excitement when she hadn't corrected his use of 'Miss' Beesly.

Her friend Roy had warned her of Michael. Well, that explained her reaction. He had met Roy once or twice at office parties (which seemed to happen every second day or so at this office); they hadn't really got along. There wasn't any confrontation, just polite conversation, but Jim could tell that Roy was one of _those guys_. He could normally pick out 'those guys' pretty well. The guys that had teased him in junior high, ignored him in senior school, and that his last girlfriend had cheated on him with. The guys that went to the bar to watch 'the game'. He wasn't bitter, really, he just never really clicked with those guys. He wondered how close Pam was to Roy, and then dismissed the thought. He couldn't really picture Pam being very close to Roy; Jim had a feeling Roy wouldn't really follow their sense of humour. Well, one thing was for sure: Pam certainly wasn't one of 'those girls'. The thought made his smile a little brighter than it had already been.

"Well, now that that is out of the way," he started, breaking the comfortable pause, "I guess we should get onto the really important things. Tell me, what is your favourite flavour of chips, Beesly?" He liked the way that the name rolled off his tongue. It came out in a humorous, mocking tone that he hadn't used in recent memory.

"Definitely French Onion."

"Oh, you are so hired," he replied back immediately. "Although, I have to admit, I am more of an 'Original' man myself."

"How boring. And do you really have the power to hire me on my chip flavour preference?" Pam said, half in earnest.

"Well, Michael is locked up in his office for the rest of the day, so basically anything I say goes. But, we will probably have to stay in this interview for a little while longer, lest the word gets out that I am just hiring French Onion lovers, and then I will have a French Onion Revolution on my hands!"

Pam noticeably cringed. "Oh, that was horrible."

"Oh, are you knocking my puns, Beesly? Because, you should know, in this office that is grounds for immediate dismissal. In fact-" Jim was abruptly cut off by Dwight storming into the office. Jim was inexplicably pleased to see Dwight; he felt as if finally having someone to share his disbelief of the man would make his life a little more enjoyable. He hoped Pam would see it. "Schrute! Where have you been? I ordered coffee from you over an hour ago."

"Don't call me Schrute! You may call me Dwight, sir, or officer."

"Officer?"

"I am a volunteer Sheriff's deputy."

"Really?" Jim said, with a quick glance at Pam. She was staring at Dwight open-mouthed. "So, _officer,_ where is the coffee? The new receptionist is thirsty." Pam swivelled, letting her surprise fall on Jim. Jim nodded slightly. Yes, she had got the job.

Dwight gave Pam a curious look. "Oh. Hello. I am Dwight Schrute, the senior sales advisor at Dunder-Mifflin. I hope that Jim hasn't corrupted you. Let me take this opportunity to formally invite you into the Schrute alliance; we are a bloc whose main function is the promotion of bear attack awareness, beet food culture, and Lord of the Rings LARPing."

"Well, it is nice to meet you, Dwight," Pam said sweetly.

Jim interrupted her. "But she has already joined the Halpert league." Jim could see Pam hiding her smile underneath a balled fist.

"I am disappointed, Pam. If you ever have second thoughts, and wish to defect, the SA meets Thursday lunchtimes in the Scranton arts and craft centre. It was nice knowing you," he finished ominously, making as if to leave.

"Coffee, Schrute?"

"I am not your subordinate, Jim. And we are out of hot water," he declared, and stalked out of the room, slamming the door.

Jim and Pam shared another look. "That is Dwight," Jim explained. "He is the reason you should not have taken this job."

"Are you kidding? He looks like a lot of fun." Pam smiled mischievously.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you just made that Halpert league thing up, right? But he bought it straight away. I'll bet he is really gullible."

"I guess he is, with some things."

"And he is not exactly someone you like."

"Are you kidding? I've sat about a metre away from him for almost two years, on not a day has gone past where I haven't wished some sort of disaster upon him." It was true. Jim did generally find Dwight funny and harmless – I mean, the kid had obviously not had a normal upbringing – but occasionally he let the Dwight-isms get to him, especially lately.

"So why don't you retaliate?"

"It is kind of childish, don't you think?"

"Listen to you, Mr. High-and-Mighty," Pam said with a twinkle in her eye. "A minute ago, you were proclaiming the French Onion Revolution, and now you are too mature to play a little joke on a co-worker who has probably been giving you crap from day one."

Jim felt the challenge in her words. Honestly, it was hard to back down. Not only was everything she saying basically true, but he didn't really have to worry about repercussions: Michael was big on practical jokes, and Jim guessed he would find the humour in most situations. If he was going to be truthful with himself, he didn't really care if Michael did mind. Getting fired would probably be the kick up the backside that he needed to get out of this dead-end job and into a real career.

"What do you have in mind, Beesly? I was thinking of keeping you on for the rest of the day anyway. You know, for training," he added unnecessarily.

"Firstly, do you think Dwight still fears the advent of communism?"

"Are you kidding? He probably still has nightmares about a second American revolution."

"Perfect. Meet me downstairs in five minutes." Jim's heart fluttered. Clandestine meetings already? It was just a harmless prank, he told himself. He noted that he didn't sound very convincing.

When the elevator doors opened with their familiar ding five minutes later, and Jim looked up at the door, he almost laughed out loud. Pam had on a Russian Ushanka. It looked slightly ridiculous and oversized on her head, and dangerously cute. Jim had a sudden impulse to step up and kiss-

What was wrong with him? He had never been an impulsive person, especially in relationships, preferring for the woman to put herself out there. It was a policy that generally saved himself from being hurt; but also meant he had never really began a relationship that he had truly wanted. But in a few short hours today, he had the beginnings of a major crush on a quiet redhead he had been interviewing. He didn't even really know anything about her. He didn't know if she was single or not (although he had a pretty good idea that she was), he didn't know where she lived, what she thought about the world, what she had been doing for the past decade and a half, give or take. But he still felt marginally closer to her at this point then he had ever felt towards any of his co-workers, even Toby who was probably the closest thing he had to an office friend.

Pam had made him feel what he hadn't really felt since high school; a genuine affection for someone who wasn't family. Sure, he had been attached to his last girlfriend, had thought he had loved her, but in the end, he didn't miss her day to day. But he could imagine missing Pam.

Geez! He had spent an hour and a half with the woman. He told himself to get a grip, and turned his mind back to the matters at hand. Pam's Ushanka had a piece of cardboard attached to it – a yellow star on a red circle – and Jim thought it was a nice touch. He had an idea what was in store for Dwight, but he stilled laughed at Pam's genius as she unravelled the details of her plan. He could tell he was going to have fun. He wondered why he hadn't thought of pranking Dwight earlier.

As they climbed into the elevator together, Pam still talking animatedly, Jim smiled as one of gestures brought her close enough for him to smell her perfume.

He was going to make up for lost time, he decided.

**A/N:**_Next chapter: the clearly over-hyped prank. And sorry also about any spelling discrepancies – we use _real _English in Australia ;)  
Also: I have watched every episode way to many times to be considered a normal person, but I still have trouble with timing. Do you think Dwight is A(TT)RM yet? I can't remember if it happened in season one, or sometime in the pre-series ether..._


	6. Chapter Six: Silences

Pam sat in the kitchen, feeling a little awkward, but nonetheless amused. She saw Jim sit down at his desk, after making a few supposedly surreptitious glances to check that no-one was in speaking distance. She expected him to lean over to Dwight straight away, but instead, he acted normal, and picked up his phone. Pam frowned; this wasn't part of the plan, and as she heard Dwight's phone begin to ring her smile broadened. Genius!

She leant closer to the partially open door, straining to hear their conversation over the general office hum. Jim's whisper wasn't exactly quiet. She immediately caught his words, her eyes widening with disbelief, but the rest of the office remained oblivious.

"Dwight! I need to talk to you, urgently. Don't say my name! This is a matter of utmost secrecy. We may be bugged; I am not sure."

"Jim, I have work-" Dwight began, moving to hang up.

"Dwight! I said not to say may name! We are experiencing a threat to national security, dammit!"

Dwight suddenly sat forward, obviously paying full attention. "Is it a meteorite? I told Michael we needed a bomb shelter. We aren't all going to fit in my basement on my farm."

"No Dwight, it is possibly worse than a meteor."

"Plague?"

"No-"

"Zombies?" Dwight cut in.

"No, but-"

"They are the only things that are worse than a meteor strike."

"Dwight, a meteor could fall on the other side of the planet. This is happening right, here, right now. We are being infiltrated by the Soviets."

"Are you kidding?"

"Dwight. I know you don't have clearance to hear this, but since it is an emergency, I am going to invoke Clause E7 of the Official Guidelines. I am a C.I.A. Agent."

"What?"

"Think about it, Dwight? Where else better to install an inside man than in a paper supply company in Scranton? Who would suspect it? Now, I don't have time to explain the details, but you are a smart man, I am sure you can figure them out. The fact is, a Red agent has penetrated our defences." Back in the kitchen, Pam was struggling to keep her laughter inaudible. Jim was better at ad libbing than she had suspected.

"Jim, I am not an idiot. We finally got the Soviets, remember?"

"Or is that just what they wanted the public to think?" Jim said consiprationally. "Use your head, dammit, Schrute. What would be better than making the public drop their guard, thinking the enemy gone? Who would suspect that they have relocated to Canada, and are infiltrating America slowly?"

"Of course! It is all starting to make sense now!"

"Right. Now, this Red Agent-"

"Is it Oscar? I always knew he wasn't an American. You can see it in his eyes."

"No, lucky I managed to nip this one in the bud before it had a chance to become established. It is the new receptionist, she is using the false name 'Pam'. I called Langley and sent them the mugshot, and it turns out she is a ex-KGB agent called Lenina."

"Pam? The one you were interviewing? She doesn't look like a Russian."

"She defected. And I have proof: look what I found in the parking lot." Pam saw him reach underneath his desk, pulling out her Ushanka.

"Good Lord!" Dwight exclaimed, then looked around guiltily. No-one had paid him any attention. Pam leaned closer to the slightly ajar door as he lowered his voice.

"I'll tell you what we are going to do," Jim said, putting the Ushanka back underneath his desk. I am going straight to Langley – she already knows my true identity – but I cannot use my phone any more, it is bugged. I need you to call them off your phone, and explain the situation for me."

"Yes, sir!" Dwight answered.

"There's a catch – civilians aren't meant to call through to headquarters. There is a whole language of code for you to learn; but for now, if you just open the conversation with the right codeword, and ignore anything they might subsequently say to you in code, they will get the message. Do you understand, soldier?"

"Yes, sir. What's the codeword?"

"It's 'Can you do the Funky Monkey?'"

"Got it."

"Right. Good luck, Schrute." Jim said dramatically, making as if to leave.

"Wait! What is the number?"

"Hmm? Oh, right," Jim said, and proceeded to recite a number that sounded unfamiliar to Pam.

"But that's... do you mean, Staples is a government agency?"

"How else do you think they are out-performing us?"

"Of course!" Jim gave Dwight a nod, and grabbed his coat off the stand. Pam had agreed that Jim would have to leave for the phone call, but she knew he would be waiting just outside the door, eavesdropping to experience the full effect. She watched Dwight pick up the phone. She couldn't believe he was going to go through with this! He was the perfect victim. I mean, who else would fall for the Russian-spy ploy? It was classic.

"Yes. Hello," Dwight barked into the phone. "This is Dwight Schrute. We have an emergency. Question: Can you do the Funky Monkey?" There was a pause. Pam thought she could hear Jim snickering from around the corner, which almost set her off. "I asked if you can you do the Funky Monkey. Yes, I am serious. No, I will not hold!"

There was another long pause. "Yes. From Dunder-Mifflin Scranton. Listen, we have a situation here. We have been penetrated by a Red agent. Our integrity had been gravely compromised. Your man, Halpert, has been discovered. I am requesting back-up." Pam could no longer have pretend to hold it in, she just hoped she wasn't laughing loud enough to distract any of the other workers.

After a couple more minutes of listening to Dwight explain his communist conspiracy to the no doubt intensely confused sales clerk at Staples, Pam decided she had let the agony continue for too long (for the clerk, of course, not for Dwight). She opened the kitchen door and stalked out, and started introducing herself to the lady behind Dwight's desk. She was talking loudly. Dwight slammed the phone into its cradle (midway through explaining the Canadian 'Red nest') like is was on fire.

Pam continued her conversation with the friendly lady (her name was Phyllis, and she was excited to have another girl to 'girl-talk' with, as she put it) ignoring Dwight. She could feel him remaining very still behind her. She prolonged her chat a little longer than necessary, just to make Dwight sweat, and then said goodbye to Phyllis, ignoring Dwight completely. As she walked past Jim's desk, however, she leant under it to grab her Ushanka, staring Dwight right into the eyes. She struggled, but managed to maintain a straight face. Her squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze, trying unsuccessfully to look calm.

"Dwight," she whispered. "_I_ can do the Funky Monkey."

He flinched at her words, staring at her open-mouthed with a look of unadulterated terror.

* * *

As they walked out into the parking lot together, Jim remembered he was going to give her a short practice on the phones to ease her into the job. He figured she had been initiated fully, though: if she was comfortable enough to manage Dwight, he didn't think she would have much problem with the rest of their co-workers. As their eyes met again, Pam's twinkling in amusement – and something else? - as she retold one of Dwight's priceless comments, Jim briefly considered asking her out to dinner.

He decided, reluctantly, against it. It was too soon, and it would be too awkward if she turned him down. He resolved to make himself wait. He wondered at his own boldness; he couldn't remember ever asking a girl out in his life and now he was struggling to keep himself from kissing an acquaintance of a couple of hours. No, he told himself firmly, he was being too impulsive. He would wait. He _could_ wait, if the waiting was all going to be like this.

They stood together for a moment in the middle of the deserted parking lot. Jim had left a message for Michael that they were leaving earlier – he was reasonably sure he had heard sniffles from behind Michael's door, and he sure as hell did not want to witness _that_ – and so they were alone in the twilight. It was a little awkward, and a little sweet. They exchange smiles. Jim's mouth was sore from smiling today, but he thought it was an RSI he could probably deal with.

"So how are you getting home, Beesly?"

"Oh. I have a lift."

"Oh, do you want me to wait? I have a..." Jim fumbled to make up an excuse. "I have an aunt waiting at home, and I don't particularly relish the thought of making small talk with her," he improvised. It wasn't entirely untrue; he had spent a similar afternoon with his only aunt couple of weeks ago."

"No, really, go." Pam said, an unidentifiable emotion in he voice. Jim nodded.

"Right. Great." Another awkward moment passed, and Pam looked away, a slight frown on her face. "Well, I will see you tomorrow, bright and early," Jim said, breaking the silence with a intentionally bright voice.

"Yes sir," Pam replied, with a slight wink. Jim realised she was mocking Dwight, still. He grinned inwardly as he walked towards his car, feeling her eyes on the back of his neck.

"Don't be late, comrade," he commanded offhandedly out of his window as he drove past.

* * *

Pam watched Roy as he said goodbye to the warehouse boys. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, asked him how his day was, and listened to him unload the aggravations of the day. She listened in a vague kind of way that she had developed over time, nodding at the right time, occasionally adding a 'Really?' or a 'No way!'. It wasn't that he was being boring, just that she had heard it over and over again. She felt they had reached a kind of rut; they had been dating for what felt like forever. She had discussed with him getting engaged a couple of times - honestly, she had hoped her hints were obvious but he seemed specifically oblivious to this kind of talk - but he had maintained he 'liked things the way they were'. She sighed. She was beginning to wonder whether she agreed.

Suddenly, he remembered about her day – after a couple of minutes of ranting – he asked her if she had got the job, and congratulated her. He didn't ask her how her interview went, but she told him anyway, omitting certain parts. It would be too complicated, she told herself.

He told her they would celebrate. She knew what that meant, but she told him she had a headache. She did, kind of, with the roar of the car and the realisation that she had a huge pile of washing to put through the washer at home. He offered to make dinner; but she declined gracefully. His cooking repertoire wasn't exactly impressive. He remained quiet for the rest of the trip.

Pam knew she was being a little mean. He had been trying to be supportive, she knew. Honestly, she didn't mind that he was giving her the silent treatment right know though.

She had a lot to think about.

* * *

**A/N:**_Sorry for the distance between updates. School, you know?_

_Okay, I have news. I had a dream last night, and now I know where I am heading with this (regardless of the increasingly inaccurate title). Bad news for people who thought I would explain some of the way characters are how they are in the T.V. Series; good new for angst-y Jammers! Because I am afraid that after the next few chapters, I am going to go alternate universe in a far-out way. No, there will not be elves. Unfortunately ;)  
_

_Hoping I can update tomorrow! And thanks for all the reviews_


	7. Chapter Seven: Questions

Jim was bursting with excitement. He knew he was acting like a teenager, but he didn't really mind. A week after Pam's interview, he was finally going to ask her out on a date. It had been one of the most difficult things in his life, but he had managed to make himself wait a whole week, for a variety of reasons.

Firstly, he didn't want to be the guy who dated the new girl. He had met a lot of those guys; people who capitalise on the disorientation and insecurities of a person in a new group people, for whatever reason, and he knew for a fact that he didn't want to be that guy. It was hard for people to turn down the offer of any kind of friendship when they were knew, and Jim wanted to know for sure that he wasn't forcing Pam into anything.

Secondly, as much as he felt like he had known Pam all of his life, he had met her barely seven days ago. Although he had spent all of his work hours with her and what seemed like all of his waking hours thinking about her, it was quite possible he didn't know her completely. However, any quirk he had yet to discover would likely not be important enough to get her out of his mind. Indeed, every time he tried to imagine her flaws, they just seemed endearing on her. He could imagine waking up to her snoring, and finding her sleeping face so cute he wouldn't have the heart to tell her, and would just drift off to the gentle rhythm of her breathing...

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, he held back because of her. Because every time he was on the brink of asking, she would change the topic, ruin the moment, or begin to look sad. He didn't know if he was being paranoid – he suspected that he was – but he was beginning to think she could read his mind, and didn't want him to ask her. He knew it was crazy, but she did read him pretty well. For example, every time he couldn't handle Dwight, she would seem to sense it, and would sent him a conspirational look. Then again, he had caught her staring at him at times she thought he wasn't looking; and they definitely had fun together.

After a week of fighting internal battles over this question, he decided that he was just going to bite the bullet and get it over and done with. He figured that the worst case scenario was she would say no for whatever reason, things would be awkward for a while, and they would go back to being friends. He wasn't looking forward to that happening, but he had more than two decades without her. At least, that is what he told himself.

Jim and Pam had become close friends very quickly. It wasn't just their shared appreciation of the quirks of their co-workers and boss; although, they did supply the two with an endless source of amusements. It was also the way they seemed to be able to communicate a lot without words. So much of what Jim felt could be conveyed to Pam with one look, or a sigh. There were a lot of things that remained unsaid between them, he was sure, but it seemed like Pam already knew all of his secrets.

Like the sweets that were on her desk. The first day she had worked, there had been a mixed assortment on her desk, like usual, and Jim had snacked during the day (with hindsight, he realised he had been favouring the jelly beans). The next day, there were only jelly beans in the container. As per usual, neither of them mentioned it, just shared a look. The jelly beans remained there for the rest of the week.

Pam had learnt to handle Michael quite well, too. To be truthful, he had been relatively mild this week. Pam had easily handled his uncomfortable jokes with deadpan looks and firm tones. Jim smiled inwardly: it was kind of amusing watching Pam with Michael. Sometimes is was like a mother with her child. That evoked a peculiar feeling in his stomach. It has only been a week! he told himself resolutely.

And Dwight no longer bothered Jim at all. Whenever he became too obnoxious, or meddling, Jim and Pam would share a look, and it would begin again. He would feel sorry for him, if he didn't know how much the guy deserved it. And he honestly asked for it sometimes. Jim wondered if he was a little too mean sometimes; but generally remembered something Dwight had done to him or a co-worker. Like the time he had bought Kevin a three dollar 'diet kit' from the dollar-store. Or when he had claimed Phyllis was the office 'elder'. Yes, Jim thought, Dwight did ask for it sometimes.

* * *

Jim's mind snapped backed to the present. It was almost five o'clock. He had a mission, and he wasn't about to back down now. He was feeling strangely confident. He thought it might just be in the air. Everyone he knew was in a relationship. His room-mate, Mark, had recently moved out to live with his girlfriend (Jim was only just able to afford both rent payments on his own measly pay cheque, but he _was_ happy for the guy). Kevin had been bragging yesterday about how serious he and his girlfriend Stacy were getting. Even Michael announced he was dating again, although Jim was naturally sceptical.

Pam looked especially cute today, in her trademark black skirt and uncharacteristically flattering white blouse. Jim had been sneaking glances at her all day. He had even been caught a few times, earning himself a couple of strange smiles in reply. It was time, he told himself. He grabbed his big, and sidled up to her desk.

She looked up expectantly. He grabbed a jelly bean, in an unsuccessful attempt to look casual.

"Uh, Pam, I..." he trailed off. This was not the place to do it, he realised. He was suddenly adamant that he didn't want the rest of the office to know about it, however she replied.

"Well, aren't we eloquent today?" Pam quipped, smirking at his pained expression.

Jim desperately searched for an excuse that would allow him to sneak away somewhere with her without looking suspicious. To his relief, he realised he had been sneaking off with her all week without arousing anyone's curiosity.

"Pam, do you think you could help me with a little project?"

"It's almost fiv-" Pam stopped when she noticed his obvious wink. "Oh, yeah, sure."

Jim led her up the staircase, onto the roof. It was a little chilly; they weren't far enough into spring for late afternoon trysts on the rooftops, Jim joked weakly to himself. Not that this was one of those. Yet.

"So what's the plan?" Pam asked, cutting into his thoughts. "Because, you know, we are going to have to make it snappy. I mean, _I _am super fast, but Dwight is going to be out of here in a couple of minutes."

Jim struggled with himself for a while. Just do it, he told himself. Like a band-aid. Pull. "Pam, actually, I didn't really call you up here about Dwight."

"Oh, we are going to branch out, are we?" Pam seemed to sense his awkwardness again, and began blabbering to fill the spaces in the air. "So who is it? Michael? Kevin? Angela?" Jim wondered if she really was trying to sabotage any attempt he made to have a 'moment'. Well, there was only one way to find out.

"Pam. I know this may be a little strange, with working together and all, but... I was wondering if you would like to go to dinner with me on Friday night?"

Pam flinched and looked away, as if he had threatened her. Before her face turned, Jim caught the sadness on her face. Fuck! he yelled at himself. What had he done? There was a long, awkward silence. Fuck. What was he going to do? He thought they had connected. Was she going to say anything? Or just stand there? Should he say something? "Umm... I'm sorry. Just forget about it. I shouldn't have eve-"

"Jim." Pam's voice cut him off, almost a whisper. "I have a boyfriend."

"What? But you never said anything-"

She interrupted again. "I know. I... don't know why. I am sorry."

"Who is it?" Jim said rudely, clutching for some semblance of normal conversation, and failing miserably.

"Roy, from the warehouse," Pam said simply.

"Roy?!" Jim exclaimed automatically. He was the last person he could see Pam with. He wasn't exactly the 'witty banter' type. "I'm sorry," he added, realising how bad he had sounded. "I don't mean it like that. I really don't. I was just a little surprised, is all." Pam was still looking away. If he thought hard enough, he could remember her mentioning Roy as a 'friend' at the interview. He could remember her waiting for a lift, not out on the footpath, but in the car-park. He could even vaguely recall Roy mentioning a girlfriend when they had been exchanging pleasantries a few months ago. He might have even named her; Jim probably hadn't been listening intently.

Jim wanted to break the silence, but he couldn't think of a safe way to start.

"So how long have you guys been together?" he said lamely.

"Seven years last month."

"Congratulations," he replied managing to sound reasonably sincere. "Look, I really am sorry about this. Do you think we could just forget it? I mean, I am sure that I would _never_ like to relive this experience."

Pam had an unreadable expression. Was that disappointment? No, he told himself. That was his over-active imagination. He could tell his attempt at a joke had fallen flat. He made a last ditch attempt to salvage things. "Do you think Angela is free on Friday, then? Because, I am a pretty confident guy, so I already booked the restaurant."

This time, Pam's lips twitched. "Oh, really?" she said. "Are you implying that you thought I would be easy?"

Jim could tell her heart wasn't in it. Neither was his, to be truthful. He wanted nothing else than to go home and try to get her out of his head. Maybe he could go to a bar tonight, and use one of his spare sick days tomorrow to ride out the awkward period. He hoped he hadn't screwed anything more than his chances for a date. "Definitely not," he said. "Anyway, I better be heading off. Do you want me to walk you to your car?" He realised how stupid he sounded. To _Roy's_ car, he amended himself silently.

"I'll be fine," Pam said, with a grimace. "Look, don't worry about this, okay? We're friends, right?" There was an air of finality to her words Jim didn't particularly care for.

"Right," he agreed over-enthusiastically. Friends. Well, it was something, he told himself.

As he walked slowly down the stairs, the wind picked up. It suited his mood he thought.

The sound disguised the quiet sobs coming from above.

* * *

**A/N:**_Sorry for the time jumping. There will be another jump next chapter, and then we will get right into the thick of the story. I am excited! Aren't you? ;)_

_And quickly: the point at which this became an alternate universe was when Pam introduced Roy as her friend instead of boyfriend. Therefore, all of the differences are because of that decision. I would go back and make it more clear, but I don' t like altering 'after the fact'; and besides, I am reasonably sure it would come off incredibly cheesy._

_The point is, that because of that, Jim asked her out. All of the other consequences of that little decision will become evident as the story progresses. _

_Thanks! See you in a day or two._


	8. Chapter Eight: Efforts

Pam glanced up at Jim's desk, and her eyebrows creased. He hadn't seen him go anywhere; usually she noticed, because she would hear the little squeak of his chair, and...

She shook herself as she spotted him through the window of the kitchen. She knee that she was unhealthily aware of where he was, even if they were close friends. She passed it off normally as a result of the fact he was the closest desk to reception, that she probably spent more time with him than anyone else, but occasionally... On days like today, when she had the inexplicable and irrational feeling – but a strong one nonetheless – Roy was more in love with himself than with her, she let her mind drift back to that day on the rooftop, six months ago.

It was cold, she was tired, and in the restless mood that eight hours of working a job that a trained monkey could do puts you in. But still, the look in Jim's green eyes when he asked her; the hope in his eyes, the utter loneliness she had felt when he walked away, were still stuck fast in her memory. She had spent a couple of minutes sobbing on the rooftop, because she knew the rejection she saw in the slump of Jim's back as he walked away was her fault. Her fault for not telling him, her fault for letting her actions cross the definite friend line she normally maintained. She often wondered why she hadn't said Roy was her boyfriend for the start. The phrase 'Freudian slip' usually entered her self-examination, but she dismissed it ruthlessly.

Still, she remembered that she had cried again, the next day. Jim hadn't shown up in the morning, and she was starting to get worried when Michael came out of his office at twelve.

"Ladies, Gentlemen... and Phyllis," he had begun, a smile on his face. "Jim has not decided to grace us with his presence today. Apparently, he got so plastered last night that he didn't even wake up until a half an hour ago! I mean, drunk on a Thursday? Hey, Meredith, you will probably have company at your meeting in a couple of weeks, because this man is falling apart!" Pam could no longer tell if he was joking.

She knew it was related, somehow. She had just managed to convince herself it could just be a coincidence when she realised something. Why would Jim not have gone through her first? Why did he go through the trouble of finding Michael's extension? She had just managed to make it to the bathroom before anyone saw the tears forming at the corners of her eyes, as for the second time in days she let her stupidity wash over her.

The next day, she had met with Jim in the parking lot. Jim had come earlier than usual – in time to see Roy give her a goodbye peck on the forehead. After a searching look at Pam, his momentarily worried look had cemented into a genuine smile.

"Sorry about yesterday," he had said.

"Hey, don't worry, someone has to challenge Meredith for the office drunk title occasionally, or else she'll get too cocky," she had replied with a smirk. They had fallen back into their pattern of easy banter. It felt comfortable. Pam was relieved.

Only later did she begin to wonder what he had apologised for. For being drunk? That would only make sense if... she shook the thought from her mind. She hadn't caused Jim that much trouble, she was sure.

Had she?

* * *

They had gotten over the encounter on the rooftop quickly. Neither of them ever mentioned it, though; it was off-limits to joking. They shared sporadic moments of awkwardness when they were reminded of it; Pam had avoided Jim for a day when Michael had offhandedly described them as like a married couple after one of their pranks. But nowadays, Pam felt right around Jim. She loved to spend time with him. They were closer than they had ever been. 

And Pam was doing well with Roy. They had gone through a rough patch a couple of months ago, when Roy had ditched her for a weekend with his brother. He had said it gave her some opportunity for some 'girl' time, which had only made Pam realised she had gotten out of touch with most of her friends. Her closest friends were her co-workers, or maybe 'was her co-worker' was closer to the truth. She considered spending the weekend with Jim to spite Roy, immediately felt horribly guilty, and ended up spending the rest of the weekend on the lounge watching guilty pleasure movies and eating pizza.

But, as always, they had made up, and now they were doing great. She was sure Roy was going to pop the question soon – the guy didn't exactly have a gift for subtlety – and she couldn't wait. It had been long enough. She just wanted to get married, and get on with her life.

Pam was roused from her thoughts, as Jim sauntered over to her desk, in his faux-cocky way that made her laugh time after time.

"So, little lady, what is on the social agenda for this Friday evening? Wild party? I hear the crew from Girls Gone Wild are in Scranton."

"And how would you know about Girls Gone Wild, Jim?"

"Because that is generally my Friday night agenda," he shot back, and then realised how it sounded. He shrugged apologetically, and Pam couldn't help chuckling.

"Too much information, Jim!" She started to blush, and her thoughts sobered. "Seriously, though, I am going out to dinner with Roy. He finally got sick of my cooking, or something, I guess." Suddenly, the conversation was slightly uncomfortable. "Why don't you go out with Mark?" she said, cursing herself when she heard how patronising she sounded.

"Uh, well, we aren't getting on that well lately." Jim looked away.

Pam remembered; Mark had been going to stay living with Jim until he found a room-mate, but a week or so ago, they had had a falling out. Jim didn't really go into what it was about. Pam knew he would when she was ready, but he normally told her everything, so it was a niggling annoyance. She considered pushing the topic further, but knew she couldn't do that to him. It was a boundary she wasn't prepared to cross, not yet; she shuddered to think what would happen if Jim probed some of her silences for their true meaning.

"Well, have fun tonight, anyway," Jim said brightly, breaking the silence. "I wish I could be there. I bet it will be nice."

"Yeah, I guess," Pam said. "See you on Monday."

Jim lingered a little longer, until he realised what he was doing, end then gave her an awkward smile and walked away.

She stared at his back. She was looking forward to Monday more than tonight, she realised.

God, she wished Roy would hurry up and propose.

* * *

She had to give it to Roy. He had taken her out to the nicest restaurant in town, and had dressed up in a suit, shaven off his stubble. He had listened to her all night, not once interrupting with a story from the warehouse. In fact, all the attention he was giving her was starting to make her a little comfortable. For starters, he just kept asking her questions, and she felt like she was starting to blabber. She wasn't really used to talking to him this much. She normally only talked for this long with Jim, and that was different. 

Still, she made the effort, it was the least she could do.

"So, Pammy," Roy started. Pam successfully fought the urge to cringe, instead smiling. The wine was really expensive, even if he had gotten white instead of red. He had made the effort, she kept telling herself. "I was thinking the other day, you know? We are really great together. I mean, fantastic. And I know I have probably left it long enough, I know _you_ want it." Pam's draw dropped. Shit! She knew where this was going. Oh no! God, she wasn't ready to hear this, she thought, knowing she had hoped for it just two hours ago.

"What I am saying, it this: Pam, will you make me the happiest man alive?" He dropped to his knee. The lady in the table next to them gasped audibly. "Pamela Beesly, will you marry me?" Out of nowhere sprung a ring box. It flipped open. A gold band dominated by a garishly large diamond. Where had he gotten the money for this? He was proposing! That rock would look ridiculous on her hand.

She supposed she had expected this. It was probably why she was wearing her best dress. Why she had worn her favourite earrings, the ones Roy had bought her on their first Valentine's day together, all those years ago. Almost eight years ago, she thought.

She saw him looking up at her expectantly. Thoughts were flying through her mind like bullets. He wanted to marry her! They were going to be married! _He_ was going to be the father of her children! _He_ was going to be her travel partner when the kids moved out of home, and they used their retirement funds to travel the world. _He_ going to be the last person she ever made love to.

"I don't know what to say," she said simply. She had been aware of how long she was silent, but Roy was still on his knees, waiting confidently.

"Just say yes, baby." Roy gave her a smile, but it was getting a little thin. They had attracted the attention of the whole restaurant, who were watching with respectful silence.

She was suddenly struck by how cliché this whole thing was. That reminded her of something Jim said the other day. This wasn't the time, she told herself, but her mind refused to conform. What was it? Oh; he had been saying that the kind of people who resort to clichés are those that don't want to think to hard. It had been funny at the time... But now, surrounded by restaurant patrons, the wine, the suit, the earrings, all seemed to be a message. Roy hated to travel, she thought. She wouldn't be able to convince him to come with her, no matter how long she worked on him.

What was she thinking? This was her special moment. This was her time to shine. She gave Roy the smile he had been waiting for... and yet, that voice in the back of her said asked, "Why isn't every day with Roy a time to shine? That's show it used to be." Jim flew back in her head. The time on the rooftop. Oh God, what was she thinking?

"Pammy, do you want to say something?" Roy was now starting to get angry. She knew what he was thinking; he had, after all, given her what she wanted. Or had he?

"Roy..." She trailed off.

"Pammy, you're scaring me."

"Roy, I... can't. I am so, so sorry. Just, give me some time to think." Pam's eyes were brimming with tears. What had she done?

"What?!" he said, his voice rising, making her flinch.

"I can't answer you right now!" Pam's body was being racked with sobs. She was aware that everyone had gone back to their meals very suddenly. The silence which had seemed respectful was now palpable, humiliating. She couldn't take it any more. She stood up, knocking her chair over in her haste to get out of the stifling restaurant.

* * *

It wasn't until she was in the taxi that she realised she had nowhere to go. 

She pulled out her phone. She had no option; she couldn't afford a taxi for the four hour drive to her parent's house, and besides, they were off holidaying. She directed the driver to the only place she could think of. She didn't have the number, only the street.

But she would recognise Jim's house when she saw it.

* * *

**A/N: **_For all you of the anti-fluff school, don't worry, this isn't going to be flowers and roses for a while. _

_I have a dick-load of homework to do, that I have just neglected for this story, so don't abandon me if I don't update for a couple of days. _

_Don't worry, I want to see this story conclude as much as you (hopefully) do! Thanks for reading._


	9. Chapter Nine: Drinks

The house felt exceedingly empty, especially at nights. It was a nice place, considering Jim was selling paper for a living; however, the lack of dividing walls between the lounge room, dining area and kitchen which had once made the place seem open and inclusive now served to emphasise Jim's solitude. Jim half-heartedly tried to convince himself that he was just living the bachelor lifestyle, but gave up quickly. He had never bought that, he was a person who relied on social contact and he knew it.

Currently, Jim was staring at the TV with vodka cruiser. He had long since stopped trying to hide his appreciation of the 'girls'' drinks, and besides, he was alone, as he constantly reminded himself. He took another swig, feeling a little head spin – it was, after all, his third in the past hour – and changed the channel. Not that he was watching. Lately, TV seemed as bland as staring at the wall, and a lot more effort.

Jim was concious that he was in a rut, but not ready to really confront the issue. He was well past his ex, who although horrible had not really created any deep emotional scarring. The loss of Mark, however, had reduced his friend circle to around zero. The fact he had so little emotional support seemed to be the reason for his rut. After all, he had been going places when he was with Debbie, getting ready for college, taking a temporary job... but, then he had lost her, and after the recovery period had been completed, he only had Mark.

Jim wished for the millionth time that he was comfortable enough with his family to fall back on them at these times. He guessed his childhood was probably responsible for his hidden but occasionally intense need for human contact. He had been brought up in a repressively strict Catholic family, his mother a meek nurse, and his father an aggressive man who was foreman at a steel refinement plant. His father had never been so horrible as to hit him or his mother; but, he vividly remembered the emotional abuse he had suffered. It was why he had cut off all ties with his parents, why he had left Boston at the age of seventeen for the relative obscurity of Scranton, and why the thought of reopening any parental contact was not one he particularly wanted to pursue. He generally found his sisters great when he needed to unload.

But he had no immediate support group, with each of his sisters flung out across the country, and was no longer even able to rely on Mark. Jim knew it was completely and undeniably his fault. He had lied and cheated his friend, and when confronted with it was utterly unable to apologise. He still remembered their last conversation.

"_Jim, why did I just find those room-mate applicant letters in the rubbish? Have you been throwing out ALL of them?"_

_Jim had been doing the dishes. "No," he answered defensively._

"_Because, you know that I wanted to move out six months ago, right? I mean, I can't postpone my life forever!"_

"_Maybe... I just wanted to keep my options open." Jim had replied, knowing he couldn't put it off any longer. "I don't want to share with anyone that isn't..." He trailed off, unwillingly to show the true extent of his feelings._

"_Isn't what? Isn't Pam? Are you kidding me? Is that the reason I have been living an hour's drive away from my girl for six months? You can't chase this girl forever!"_

With that, Mark had stormed out, and while Jim was at work the next day, he cleared out his stuff. Yet here Jim was, unwilling to move on from his job at Dunder-Mifflin, unable to go out to bars, to even connect with anyone he incidentally met at the grocery story or the gym. Instead, he was into his third cruiser on a Friday night. He couldn't even afford to rent out a couple of soppy romantic movies; paying both side of the rent for a modern two-room apartment had seriously impaired his ability to indulge in luxuries.

He decided to acknowledge how pathetic he was actually being. He had to take some steps forward, and he knew the only way to start. He had to quit his dead end job.

To be honest, his relationship with Pam was the major contributor to his recent spate of inactivity. He both craved any sort of contact with her, and knew that she was holding him back from moving on. Those bitter-sweet, awkward-comfortable moments at the office highlighted the duality of their relationship: on one level, they shouldn't really be so close (a protective Roy and the embarrassing evening on the rooftop would generally be enough to keep them distant) yet in reality he enjoyed being with her more than anything. It felt right.

They had gotten closer then he would have imagined over the past months, Pam sharing with him the intimate secrets of her life (although, she managed to leave out Roy more often then would be natural), Jim unburdening all the problems of his recent relationship and upbringing. Although they enjoyed playing pranks and joking around, they were generally able to shift from the casual work friendship into their deep conversations without realising it.

But, he was beginning (to hell with beginning: he had never stopped) to fall in love with her, and he knew it was going nowhere. No, quitting, and maybe a change of scenery was the only option. Downing the last of his cruiser, he resolved to give notice on Monday.

He was in the kitchen, reaching for cruiser number four, when he heard the urgent knock at his door.

* * *

Jim's house hadn't been hard to find, in the end. She had been able to spot his car from the end of the street – parked on the kerb, for some reason – and had burst form the cab, turned around when she remembered she hadn't paid, and rushed once more up to his staircase with utter conviction.

Yet, as her hand reached to knock on his door, she had frozen, and her previous confidence deflated instantly. What was she doing here? What did she expect from Jim? She had carefully avoided the topic of Roy, after the first couple of times she had seen Jim's eyes fall at the mere mention of his name. Now she was going to unburden the problems at the basis of their whole relationship? Cry on his shoulder about a man that she knew Jim – though silently – strongly disapproved of?

But she raised her hand again when she remembered why she had turned Roy down in the first place. Jim had given her the ability to finally be able to look at the relationship objectively, and if anyone knew what was right for her, he did. After all, he had been so helpful with all her other problems already... yes, Jim would know what to do. Before she realised what she was doing, she was pounding on his door.

She heard, or felt, his feet thudding towards the door.

The moment of pause as he peered through the eye hole. Shit! She was still in her best dress, heels in one hand (to better facilitate her getaway from Roy, she mused bitterly) and a face with the tracks of mascara-stained tears visible. She should have wiped them away, at least.

There was an agonising pause. She did not know why. She suddenly decided this was a horrible idea, and was about to turn away, when the door was flung open.

"Pam."

She took one look at his bleary eyes, an all-consuming concern for her evident on his face, and tottered as if about to fall into a swoon.

He rushed forward, and she collapsed into his open arms. She smelt the alcohol in his breath, and read it in his slight swaying motion, but she didn't mind. This would make it less painful, at least. She looked through the gap of his arms and allowed herself to be held, just moments after her boyfriend had proposed to her...

Shuddering, she shrugged herself away from him. He followed for a split second, and then noticed himself and pulled back.

"Come inside."

"I don't know if that is a good idea..."

"Do you have a better option, Beesly?" He intoned teasingly, but seemed to realised his mistake, as Pam's face crumpled. "Oh, God, I am sorry. Here, come inside, I will make you some tea." She stood still, shaking silently, and she saw him fidgeting. She didn't know if she could go anywhere, until she felt his hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her inside. She allowed herself to be led.

The inside of his apartment surprised her. She knew he was living alone lately – he had never said it outright, but she worked out for herself that Mark had moved out – but it was too spacious and modern for his salary, she thought. Still, she followed him without a word to his lounge room, and sat slowly down on the couch.

There was a long silence. The promise of tea was forgotten. Pam looked down at Jim's gaze of concern. She wasn't sure if she was doing the right thing.

"I didn't know anywhere else I could go."

"I don't mind."

"I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say."

"We can sit for a while." The slur of alcohol was completely absent from his voice; she guessed she had sobered him up really quickly.

Another interminably long silence past, with both of them staring at their feet.

"On our first date, Roy took me to a sports game," she whispered haltingly.

Then, it all poured out, everything she should have said years ago, to somebody, anybody. Things she should have said to herself. Things she knew she hadn't stopped thinking about long after Roy had thought he had atoned.

* * *

Jim said nothing as she poured out her heart on his couch. As she lapsed into silence after about two hours of quietly indicting Roy, he got up to make tea, thought better of it, and brought back two cruisers. After she had a long draught, she began again, her voice a little stronger. Jim's chair was a little closer.

By dawn, she had reached last night's restaurant scene. He was dimly aware of being amazed by her capacity to remember the most mundane details of her life with Roy, and was surprised and more than a little jealous by her obvious love for him, despite the condemnations flowing from her lips. After all, what reason to stay with him after all he had obviously put her through?

However, Jim quickly put the thought aside, focusing on her retelling. He now knew the most intimate details of their relationship, and he felt he knew where it was heading. He knew that Roy had gotten her the wrong wine even before she dully noted it.

Just as Jim's anticipation was peaking, however, he realised she had been paused for a little too long.

He looked over. She was asleep.

He didn't know if he was disappointed, relieved or hurt. After spending the whole night hearing Pam describe the neglect and occasional love she had received from Roy, he felt emotionally drained.

He scooped her up into his arms, hesitating when she snuggled into his chest, and deposited her on his bed.

He had barely reached the couch before he fell asleep. He did not, however, experience the dream-free sleep of an alcoholic stupor.

* * *

**A/N: **_Apologies for the extended absence. Sorry if this story has any inconsistencies – honestly, I get these things done in about an hour and a half of frenzied writing, and abhor proof reading. Believe me, though, this is not the beginning of a fuzzy ending. Chapter Ten is not going to be fun._

_Am I the only one who watched Pam's confession at the end of 'Beach Games' fifty times? I swear, I spent at least a half an hour on it, continually repeating. Season finale next week? I am going to die._


	10. Chapter Ten: Sheets

Jim fought waking. He was sure he had a great reason to get up, and he was beginning to feel an ache in his neck from sleeping on the couch, but he ignored both, snuggling into the couch further. Darkness almost enveloped him once more, then-

"Just leave it... course it didn't."

A voice was threatening to pull him from his sleep. The sporadic parts of the whispered conversation he could make out were becoming louder. Sighing, he rolled over onto his back. From his couch, he could see the doorway.

Where Pam was standing. Whispering through a gap in the open door.

Jim was wide wake by the time he heard Roy's voice burst through the gap.

"Well, what am I meant to think, Pam? You turn down my engagement, and then I find you've slept with Jim?!" Jim's eyes opened even wider. So Roy had proposed.

"Roy, I didn't sleep with him! I just came here to talk, and I fell asleep, okay? He is my friend, that's all, I would never do that." Jim lowered his eyes from the door. Friends. Realising he was eavesdropping on Roy and Pam's private conversation, he silently got up, and decided to have a shower. He was still in his work clothes from Friday. Maybe the sound of the water would drown out the scene in the lounge. He caught one last piece of the conversation before he left.

"Yes, I'll come home."

His face was expressionless as he closed the bathroom door behind himself. He quickly undressed, and turned the taps on as fast and as hot as he could bear. The heat washed over him. That was all he was, to Pam, he guessed: a friend. But what about the way she leant into his chest last night? And why had she said no to Roy? And what about the look she had given him when she showed up at his house? But from her lips it came, like it had on that rooftop six months ago. "We're friends, right?" she had said. Didn't she see what kinds of torture she was putting him through?

She mustn't. Well, Jim knew ignoring her wouldn't work, so he was just going to have to be what she wanted; a friend. How he would manage that, he wasn't sure; but, whatever it took, he would. Pam deserved so much more, but the least he could give her was his friendship.

The water cut off abruptly as he twisted the taps with unnecessary force. He felt cold. His face was neutral as he got dressed. He heard a knock on his door. He gave a quick thought to Roy, wondering if he was about to get knocked on his ass. He didn't particularly care. "Come in," he said quietly.

Pam walked through the door, still in the stunning dress she fell asleep in. Although some of its effect was lost from the creases, it still looked great. She, on the other hand, looked horrible; her eyes were red, and she had lines all over her white arms from the way she had fallen asleep. Jim tried to think he was only good enough for beautiful women, He told himself she wasn't that pretty, even when their eyes met, and he felt she could tell exactly what he was thinking. His gaze dropped, and he looked to the floor. Not that great, he repeated hollowly to himself.

"Jim, I am so sorry. When I wasn't home, and not with my family... He knows you're my only close friend, and he jumped to conclusions. I heard him pull up, and I didn't want to wake you. I am really sorry."

"Look, its fine, really. Friends are here to help you out. We all have problems with our relationships." Jim fought to keep his expression under control.

"Are you... Do you think it is just that?"

Jim brought his eyes up to meet Pam's. She wanted his blessing. What was he supposed to say? Should he tell her that Roy was wrong for her? I mean, Jim was sure the guy loved her, in his own way, and from what he heard last night, Pam did too. Who was he to interfere in their love? After all, he was just a friend. They were in love. He could hear himself rationalising, but he didn't care. He made his voice steady as he answered.

"I am sure it is."

Pam nodded. "Well, I am going to go home now. Thanks for everything, and sorry for bringing all of this into your house." She smiled weakly.

"No problem, Beesly," Jim said. "Next time, though, ring ahead, okay?"

Pam's smile faltered, and then left her face. "There won't be a next time."

And then she was gone. Jim didn't know whether to feel relieved, or disappointed. He settled on empty.

* * *

Pam was aware of Roy fuming next to her – he always sped when he was annoyed – but she couldn't force herself to talk to him. Once they got home, she had told him. Right now she had to think. 

Jim had been so great last night. Just letting her talk, and talk, and let it all out. And she had woken up again, needing to go to the toilet, in the early morning, walking past Jim on the couch, mumbling in his sleep. She caught her name a couple of times, before she realised she was watching him sleep with a smile on her face, and had hurried back to Jim's bed.

And in the morning, she had been woken by Roy's car pulling into the drive (she would know the roar of that engine anywhere) and she hadn't known what to do. And the way he put it, she felt like she had acted like an absolute bitch last night, and it was all Roy could do to assume she was sleeping with Jim. And so, she had agreed to go home with him, to talk.

And then she had turned around, and he wasn't on the couch any more. She had wanted some confirmation that she had done the right thing last night, that she wasn't who Roy said she was. She had seen it in Jim's eyes, when she had been sitting on the couch, letting all of it out, everything she had bottled up for the duration of her relationship with Roy. But the combined effect of the cruisers, and his knee touching her thigh, had lulled her into a sleep before she could tell him everything, that he had come into her head at the restaurant... And what had he said in his bedroom? That's what friends were for.

The car pulled up at their house. Roy killed the engine, and burst out of the car, leaving Pam in the silence of the car, alone. She sighed. Jim had said he was sure it was just normal relationship issues. She made herself get out of the car. She would sort this out.

Roy was waiting for her inside the house.

"Pammy, are you leaving me?" Roy was no longer livid. He looked a little forlorn, in their little lounge room. Pam considered the question, but she already knew what she was going to say, had known since Jim had said those words in his bedroom. Roy was starting to look desperate. "Pammy, you don't know what it would do to me if you left me. I need you, baby, I can't live without you. You can't leave me. I will do anything that you want me to do. Tell me what to do, baby."

"Roy, I love you." His face lit up. "But, I need some time out of this house. I am sorry if I have hurt you, I really am, and I'm not breaking up with you, I just need to take a step back, okay?" His shoulders hunched over again.

"Where are you going to stay?" he murmured to the carpet.

"I don't know. With my mum, I guess."

"And you're going to drive three hours into work every morning?" Roy started incredulously.

"I don't know, all right?" A thought popped into her head. "But wherever I stay, you have to accept it. If we are going to make this work, Roy, you have to let me make my choices."

Roy was quiet. "Okay," he said finally. "Can you at least tell me what I did wrong?" He looked so hopeless, Pam leant forward and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"I hope you can figure it out, Roy." At his exasperated expression, her pity lessened, and she left to have a shower and get dressed. He said nothing else but a few more words to her as she filled her suitcase, grabbed a few other things, and rang a taxi. Roy offered to drive her, but she knew it was too early for him. For now, she would have to keep it a secret from him, however it looked.

* * *

Jim had been sitting on his bed for the past half an hour, telling himself he was thinking, but really just absorbing Pam's smell from the sheets. He knew it; it was the smell of her moisturiser, a mixture of lanolin and cinnamon, of her shampoo, and the indefinable other scents that made Pam. He missed her already. He couldn't believe she was in his house, sleeping on his bed, only a couple of hours ago. He stared at his sheets, willing her to appear. Why had he wasted time sleeping, dreaming of her, when she was upstairs?

Suddenly frustrated with himself, he stood up quickly, and began tearing the sheets from his bed. He couldn't be like this, he knew. This was not healthy. They were just friends. Well, he would show her how casual their friendship was on Monday. He stomped down the stairs, and threw the sheets into the laundry. In fact, he wouldn't even talk to her, just give her a casual wave, and ignore her.

Feeling suddenly down on seeing her cup on the coffee table, he decided he need to get out of the house. Maybe see a movie. He would even ditch his usual preference for crappy romantic comedies. He wanted something inane, purely and excessively violent. He wanted to sit in the cinema and silently jeer whoever actually enjoyed the crap they were charging for.

Halfway there, he remembered he had left his door unlocked. He cursed himself for a second, looking for a place to turn, and then changed his mind. What did he have to steal anyway?

The movie was not as enjoyable as he had hoped it would be. His mood faded quickly, and only a couple of rows behind his seat there was a couple noisily making out. He wanted to yell at them, and he turned around; but, they had stopped, and were just leaning on each other. They looked so at peace. He wondered if the guy was Roy, or himself. He decided, since he actually had the girl, it was Roy. It fitted his mood.

He ended up leaving halfway through the picture, not knowing what to think. He couldn't decide if he was angry, indifferent, hurt or moving on. He stopped by the liquor store on the way home. It wasn't like him to drink two nights in a row, but he had a feeling he wasn't going to get to sleep tonight without a little help.

When he finally got home, he got out his keys to unlock the door, but stopped when he remembered it was already unlocked. He made to turn the handle, and then paused. There was someone in his apartment. He had been robbed, someone was in his house, stealing his meagre possessions. Well, this was one thing he could do something about. Finally, he had someone he could direct his anger at. He didn't think about the consequences. He just burst through the door.

There was a suitcase on the couch. Pam was sitting next to it. Jim came to an abrupt halt. She looked up at him, guiltily.

"J-Jim! I'm sorry if I surprised you. Can I... I mean, would it be all right if I stayed here for a little while?" she mumbled.

* * *

**A/N: **_Lalalaa! About to get into the actual story, I feel like this has just been the introduction! And the season finale? Oh. My. God. Finally, a little sustenance for Jammers. Though how we'll last until September, I don't know. _

_Goodnight, and good luck! ;)_


	11. Chapter Eleven: Doors

"Yes." Jim answered her instantly. He looked worried, tired, but she knew his expression. His jaw was set. He was not going to back down from this one.

Pam's heart melted. He was so perfect; his help was unconditional, his love... Whoa. Pam stopped herself. What was she saying? He had just let her stay for what he probably thought was a couple of nights. Still... Pam saw that look in his eyes, and knew he would let her stay as long as she wanted. His smooth jaw was in its place, she noticed again...

"Thanks. I just... I can't be with Roy right now." Pam made herself talk to break her silence. "I don't know what is happening with my life. And I just need to take a step back, okay?"

"Sure. Look, I was starting to think about moving out if I couldn't find a flatmate soon, anyway, so you saved me. I mean, if you are going to be staying for a while, I don't mean to say you and Roy won't work things out." Jim looked like he had just made a mistake. "Not that I... don't worry. I am just saying, you are welcome as long as you want. That's what friends are for, right?" He didn't look much happier.

"Yeah, sure," Pam said, and realised she had been staring at him for a little longer than was polite. She looked down again. "Umm... so, I only have a suitcase. Will I dump it in Mark's room? Is that his stuff?"

"In your room?" he corrected with the hint of a smile. "Nah, furniture is included in the rent. Which you will be paying, to me, directly: there is no loafers in the Halpert household." Pam felt a little shiver down her spine. The Halpert household. She could get used to that. She wasn't sure she was ready to start back in their usual game though, not yet. She didn't shoot back some wisecrack, just smiled weakly. Jim's smile faded slightly.

"So..." There was a silence of things left unsaid. She quickly lent forward, and grabbed her suitcase, suddenly and inexplicably frightened of what he actually might say to fill in those gaps. "Shall you show me to my new room?"

"Yes, ma'am." Jim grabbed her bag, before she could deny him the chance to be chivalrous. There was an awkward shuffle as they both tried to climb the thin staircase at the same time, and then both gave way at the same time. Jim grinned, it seemed determined to elicit a smile from her. "The first hour you have been in my house, and you are already in my way!" Pam appreciated it, but there was too much she had to say. They climbed the stairs – Pam successfully avoiding the urge looking at his butt – and she followed him into Mark's (her) room. She was going to have a queen to herself, for the first time since... well, for the first time she could remember for a long time.

She sat on the edge of the bed. This was time. She had to have the talk. She had to summon the courage to say the things she knew she had to; otherwise, living together would be too hard. She motioned for Jim to join her, on impulse. They were friends. They could sit on the same bed together, she told herself. Still, she couldn't stop her heart fluttering a little, as his weight bounced her a little closer to him.

"Jim, I am sorry about this morning. I really didn't mean for this – Roy – to spill over onto you. And I promise, that sort of thing, you will not have to witness any more." Pam saw something in his eyes, but pushed on regardless. "I mean, I don't know what will happen with me and Roy, but after what you had to witness this morning... I really didn't mean for Roy to jump to the conclusions he did, I am sorry."

Jim's eyes stopped wandering. "About us?" he said quietly, as his eyes snapped back to her face.

"Uh... you were awake, weren't you?" At Jim's nod, she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Pam reddened, unable to speak, but nodding. She had assumed he had missed out on that part. What had she done? She tried to recover. "I mean, I went home and sorted it all out. Roy and I will be fine." That was not what she meant to say. Why did she say that? She could see Jim leaning away, and standing up.

"That's good to hear," he said, with a strange tone underscoring his voice, one he hadn't heard since this morning. When he had said to call her next time she came over unloading all of her feelings, her secrets. That tone which said, he really didn't want her to come, and was now saying he didn't want to hear. She was taken aback a little by this. Hadn't he said she could come over any time? That friends were there to help? He had sounded sincere. He had looked sincere a few minutes ago.

Pam felt a sudden anger, an urge to push her point, and she stood up, as if to usher Jim out. "Yeah, it was just cold feet, I guess. We'll be fine," she repeated. When Jim's face remained carefully blank, she felt more of that irrational frustration, blossoming in like a fire in her lungs, making her hands clench slightly. "But, I am OK to have a no sex rule, in the _Halpert Household_, if that is what you want," she spat out bitterly.

She instantly knew she had gone too far; not even Jim could pass that off as a joke. He lost his composure this time, giving her a perverse and fleeting feeling of satisfaction, but almost before she noticed his neutral look returned.

"Don't worry about it. You can sleep with whoever you want here." He turned and strode out of the room, without saying another word, and she could here the click of his door shutting down the hall.

She slammed her own, with less-than-subtle force, and fell back on her bed. What had possessed her to say that?

* * *

Jim had calmed down, by the time he knew he should do something about dinner. He had lain on his bed, pretending to himself that he was reading a book, for the past couple of hours. He couldn't even remember the title. He knew he was only holding it up for Pam's benefit, waiting for her to come in and apologise, or say something. They had never really fought before. Jim shook himself; it wasn't like they were a couple, or anything. There was nothing wrong with wait Pam had said. But they way she had said it... 

He could feel his dual anger – at her for what she said and at himself for not going and fixing things – smouldering under the surface of his emotions, but for now he had it under control. He could remain civil, for now, at least. He decided he should get dinner, in this new spirit of civility; although, he wasn't in a cooking mood. Takeaway it was, then. He grabbed a coat from his wardrobe, and turned his door handle.

He knocked on Pam's door – appropriately polite, he thought to himself with a measure of satisfaction – and waited for an answer. And waited. Just as he was about to turn the handle, he heard the shower turn on down the hall.

For a moment Jim forgot everything that had happened since he has first interviewed Pam. The night after, he had had a distinctly unfriendly dream involving Pam and his shower. He wasn't exactly the type who enjoyed having frequent sexual fantasies – especially about his best friend, who was engaged – but, more often than it should have, it popped into his mind during the oddest times.

And here she was in his shower. A few images popped through his mind, before he could help himself. And suddenly he was striding down the hall, to the bathroom door, and putting his hand on the handle and-

He stopped himself. In the end, it was only the anger, that could stop him. He knew his lust would probably be as frightening for Pam as it was for him, but the only thing that could tear him back from that door, was that bubbling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing how much he wanted her, not only as a friend to trash talk and joke with, but as a lover, to dream and wish and open his heart and to kiss and kiss and kiss...

No. She would not get that satisfaction. Not when she already had Roy, and he was alone, had been alone for too long. His hand slipped off the handle, and he knocked on the door loudly.

"Jim?" Pam's voice floated through the door, muted.

After a brief internal struggle with the images which had threatened to overwhelm him, he found his voice. "I'm just popping out to grab some food. Do you want me to pick you up some Thai?" He added, remembering her love of the local restaurant.

There was a brief pause. "Do you think you could grab me some Chinese? I don't like Thai much, lately."

Liar.

"Sure!" he yelled through the door, no longer just because of its thickness, and stomped down the stairs with unnecessary force.

* * *

Pam leant back against the tiles, letting the water rush over her. She felt a little tired. She had not intended for things to go this way at all. But then, what had she expected? She knew, deep down, how much any talk of Roy made Jim awkward at work. Why should she expect any different when he was at his house? It was so frustrating; why couldn't he just accept that she was happy with her relationship? She thought briefly about what she had told Jim last night, all she had said; and about the engagement ring that she had walked out on this morning, sitting conspicuously on her – on _Roy's_ – kitchen bench. She shook her head. Cold feet, she had said, and cold feet it was. 

Turning off the taps, she stepped out of the shower. Jim and her were such great friends yesterday. She wanted to live here for that friendship, one she was sure would extend out of work. She wanted to live here, because it always seemed like she was examining her own decisions better when she was with Jim, and she had a lot of decisions to make. She dried herself vigorously, and liberally dusted herself with talcum powder.

With all of the instability of the past weekend, she just wanted some of her friendship back. She resolved to make an effort to be nice to Jim tonight, to be the friend she had been. Decided, she wrapped her towel around herself, and let herself out of the bathroom, walking quickly back to her bedroom. It was a little cold; she was used to having an en suite. When she got to her room, she ruffled through her suitcase, unsure of what she was looking for. She had a dress that was too formal for eating takeaway, and pyjamas. Sighing, hoping she wouldn't like like an absolute fool, she put on her flannelettes. Curse her for not bringing some casual clothes! Although, she hadn't exactly been in a logical mood this morning.

By the time she was settled on the couch downstairs, with her damp hair in a plait, she could here Jim's car pull up into the driveway. The TV was on one of her favourite shows, but she couldn't help but rushing over to peek out the lounge room window. He killed the engine, opening his door... but stopped. She couldn't make out his expression by the weak light of the car's interior.

He waited, in the same position, Pam peeking out through the corner of a curtain, for about two minutes. Pam was unsure what he was waiting for, until she saw him get out with a distinctly nervous look on his face. He leant back against the car for another couple of second, and Pam could see him composing himself by the light of the street lamp. By the time Pam realised he had assumed his normal casual demeanour, he was close enough to the door that Pam had to rush back to the couch to avoid being caught staring.

"Hey," she said offhandedly as he came quietly through the door, not even removing her eyes from the TV.

"Hey," he echoed. "I'm sorry. the Chinese place was closed, so I just got two lots of Thai. Is that okay, or do you want me to cook you some pasta or something?"

Pam inwardly smiled, and gave him a disinterested nod. She had actually a real craving for Thai - as usual - but out of the desire of denying Jim the feeling he knew everything about her, had made up something on the spur of the moment. Her satisfaction in getting what she actually wanted faded when she looked up and caught the hint of a smug smile on his lips. That bastard had known!

Furious with herself for playing into his trap, she put her feet up on his coffee table. "Is it fine if we just eat on the couch?" she said, knowing his aversion to eating meals by the TV. He had more than once made some comment about Roy doing it.

Her hope of goading him into a little open discomfort faded quickly. He gave her a forced smile, and then replied by plonking the bag on the table, shouldering off his coat, and settling down at the opposite end of the couch. "I would like nothing better," he added.

They quickly got into the food. It became a silent competition, since Jim had gotten two of everything; Jim would reach for something, and then Pam would grab the same thing, eating slightly faster than normal, grabbing the next dish with satisfaction if she finished first. She didn't even really notice what was happening on the show, even if she was staring at the screen intently.

When they were finished, they sat in silence, neither getting up lest it show the other had won. Jim barked out a question: the first to crack under the silence, Pam thought with triumph.

"Any plans for tomorrow?" he enquired casually in an ad break. The remote was flipping in his hand.

"Not really. Might go over to Roy's, you know, to get a little more stuff."

"How is he taking all this?" Jim remarked, almost conversationally.

"Not great. But after how he... I am prepared to stay here, even if he doesn't want me to." Realising she had lost the upper hand, she added untruthfully: "He said he might take me out to lunch tomorrow, though."

The remote was twirling vigorously in Jim's hand. After a short pause, he said in his now-familiar false tone, "I hope you have fun."

There was a loud clack as the remote slipped out of his hand, bounced of the coffee table into the floor next to Pam.

They both reached for it at the same time.

Pam felt Jim's shoulder brush up against her hair.

* * *

Jim could smell her, stronger than ever, that mixture of moisturiser, shampoo, and now a hint of talcum powder. He could feel her fringe on his shoulder. He was angry with her, but he couldn't pull back, not with her breath on him, not with creamy neck looking so, so inviting. 

She brought her eyes up to him. He could see her anger in those eyes, yet she wasn't pulling back either. They were both paralysed, staring deeply into each other's eyes, Jim thirsting for her, and at the same time furious with himself.

The show came back on. Jim forced himself back.

They watched the show together in silence, until, without a word, Pam left in the middle of its climax. He heard her padding upstairs.

He leant over, and picked up the remote, and changed the channel. He could her the floorboards creaking with her footsteps upstairs, and fought the urge to join her.

He didn't move for two hours, until he was sure she was asleep, and then he switched the screen off, and quietly moved upstairs. He rushed past her door, shutting himself tight up in his room.

And settled in, resolved not to open the door again until the morning, no matter how hard it would be.

"Goodnight", he whispered.

* * *

**A/N:**_Big chapter, by my standards. If my history teacher is reading, THIS is why I haven't been doing my homework, okay?_

_Thanks for reading! The simple fact that you have made it this through many chapters makes me happy:) _

_See you soon!_


	12. Chapter Twelve: Trailers

Sunday morning forced itself upon Jim, as unwelcome as it was. He had ended up listening to his mp3 player until early in the morning, and fallen asleep with it still in his ears. Prying his eyes open, he checked to see why it wasn't playing: the battery had run flat.

In other words, he had not had a good night's sleep. And even if it was only eight on a Sunday, Jim knew from experience he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. The thoughts had already begun to swirl in his head: the remote incident last night. Oh God. He had been about five centimetres away from he lips. Five short centimetres away from her pale pink lips...

He called up his anger again. Every time, he realised how unhealthy it was, and knew he would have to talk himself into it; but he did it none-the-less, knowing the alternative. He used his frustration to pull himself out of bed, fuming at Pam's nerve. She knew he was in love with her, knew he was struggling with it, he was sure. He wanted more than anything to just be able to be friends with her, but they both knew that wasn't going to happen. So what was she doing using his shower in hearing distance? Why was she allowing herself to come so close to him, with her scent and her pastel pyjamas and her long, curly hair and those lips...

Angry, Jim told himself. She had no right to ask this of his friendship. What was worse, Jim knew he would never be able to force her out openly; if it was a matter of playing their friendship against his angst, the friendship would always win out. That was the most humiliating feeling of all, knowing he couldn't even stand up to her to make sure shge knew how he felt. And knowing there would always be one small part of him, a quiet voice in the back of his head, saying: "Let her stay. You never know what might happen." That voice was what he tried to drown with the anger, and right now it was working,

He could at least be a horrible room-mate, and maybe she would leave of her own accord. He had certainly tried his hardest last night. That was the way to go: keep up the anger. As much as it drained him. As much as it sometimes felt worse than the little voice. He had to hold onto the anger.

With new resolve, he headed to the shower, knocking first to check it was clear, regardless of the sudden impulse to fling open the door, in the hope she _was_ there. Jim shook himself. Anger. What right did she have to make him knock on his own door? Jim ignored the obvious hole in this argument – he had been doing this for years with Mark – and entered the bathroom. There was the faintest hint of talcum on the floor. He ignored in stoically.

By the time he had showered, dressed, and made it halfway through coffee and breakfast, Pam was up. He hadn't picked her for one to sleep in, but now that he knew, it fit well. She was still in her pyjamas. Her hair was in slight disarray. She mustn't have heard him in the kitchen, because she seemed surprised to see him.

"Oh... Good morning," she rasped in a distinct first-words-of-the-morning voice. She cleared her throat. "I didn't think you would be up yet."

Jim felt a sudden surge of compassion. "I rise with the sun, like God intended," he said matter-of-factly, and was pleased when her eyes lit up in understanding at his Dwight reference. She looked a little surprised, but her smile was no less warm for it. The little voice piped up again, but Jim pushed him down. After all, there was no need not to be civil.

"Yeah, well, unlike those of us blessed with the master bedroom – complete with en suite – I do not receive the morning sunlight."

"Oh, is that right? So, you don't have an alarm clock in your big bag of goodies?"

"No. In fact, I don't even own an alarm clock. I always used to just get Roy to..." She trailed off.

Jim felt his eyes dropping, uselessly trying to force himself to keep up his smile.

Pam's voice strengthened. "Do you think you could do me a favour, Jim? Could you wake me up tomorrow?"

Jim smiled at her. So, she wasn't planning on staying at Roy's tonight. He wondered if she even remembered her offhand comment that she might stop in there tomorrow. He felt a renewed cheeriness, and again ignored the voice. "Well, it depends. Do you want the casual wake-up knock? Or do you prefer the personal service we offer in the Halpert household?" He paused, realising how that statement could be misconstrued. "It includes complimentary coffee," he added in what he told himself was a purely friendly voice.

"Okay, I have a question for you: why is it the Halpert household? I mean, I assume I will be paying equal rent. Really, it should at least be the Halpert-Beesly household."

"Because I am the man," he said goadingly.

"Oh, is that right?" she scoffed, leaning over her coffee. "Well, I wonder how many _men_ use fabric softener, like I saw in the laundry. Or Pantene Citrus Blast Shampoo. Or have flowery aprons hanging on their stove."

"Purely decoration. Are you trying to cast aspersions upon my masculinity, Beesly?"

"Certainly not, Conan."

There was a long pause, as Pam smiled at Jim challengingly, and he tried his best to give her a faux-disdainful stare down. Jim noticed the way slivers of morning light shone through he curtains onto her hair. His smile broke through. They held each other's eyes for longer than necessary.

Eventually Pam looked away, and the spell dropped. Reality came crashing down on Jim. He was meant to get her out of this place, so she wouldn't keep making him feel like... like this. His smile falling away, utterly furious at himself, Jim began to clear dishes. How could he maintain the anger when she was constantly wonderful?

Jim composed himself enough to ask Pam a casual question. "So, have your plans changed from last night?" He cursed himself at the unintentional reference to the remote control incident. "I mean, are you still going to Roy's?"

Pam caught his eye briefly as he came back for a load of condiments from the table, and just as quickly she looked back at her coffee cup. "I guess I had better... I mean, I don't really have anything here at all. There's a lot to get," she said, muttering the last part of it under her breath almost reluctantly.

Jim was suddenly terrified that she was thinking it was too much effort, his thoughts quickly jumping to the next conclusion: it was too much effort to leave Roy? Although he didn't think that was what she meant, he struggled with himself. What if she did begin to think that? He didn't want her to move back with Roy; at least, not until she had a chance to work out her issues. And even then... but that was not the point. Even if it was torture for him, he knew Pam deserved the chance to sort out his issues.

Without thinking, the words tumbled from his lips. "Do you want a hand, then?"

"Um..." Pam began. Jim cursed himself for his stupidity. "You know what? I would like that." Jim berated himself the more. A day of hanging out with Roy and Pam? For chrissakes, the brief meeting at the end of every work day were bad enough.

"I have a friend with a trailer we can probably borrow," Jim said, again unthinkingly.

"Great! I was going to have to get Roy to probably take the stuff, but I guess that isn't necessary."

"No problem," Jim replied. What had he just gotten himself into?

* * *

What have I gotten myself into? Pam asked herself, as she stared out of Jim's passenger side window. She had been so angry with Jim last night, for making her feel like she needed him, for being so close when all she wanted to do was work out her life. For being so unlike the Jim she knew all of Saturday. But this morning, he had been the old Jim again, if just for a moment. She hadn't been paying attention, and he had offered, and for a moment she thought it might be easier with Jim there. Less danger of her falling right back into Roy's arms again. 

But now, driving to Jim's friend's house, she realised there was a lot of danger doing it this way. The danger of her having to pick sides. The danger that Jim would end up with a broken nose.

But of course – the story of her life – it was too late to back out now, so she sighed inwardly as Jim pulled up into a strange driveway.

Jim killed the engine, and sat in his seat. He kept sitting there. It was absolutely quiet.

"Um... aren't we going to go in?"

Jim briefly glanced at her, and then finally shrugged. "Actually, do you think you could do me a favour? I need you to wait in the car. I'll only be a second."

Pam looked at him strangely. She had no idea what was going on; it seemed this day was just getting stranger and stranger, like she just couldn't find her feet. Why was she at this unfamiliar house? Why didn't Jim want her to come in? Why had he volunteered to help her out at Roy's? She made herself give Jim a confused nod, and Jim once again shrugged at the question in her eyes. Jim let himself out of the car, and walked himself up the driveway, Pam's eyes following him every step of the way.

Pam was sick of not knowing things about Jim. That was one of the things she loved about Jim: he was so open with his feeling, with everything that had happened to him. She had helped him get over his parental issues. She had listened when he complained about this or that, or when he got incredibly excited about something and couldn't hold it in.

But now, everything was secret and hidden, and Pam hated it. Well, she was not going to stand for it any more. Jim was her best friend and she had poured her entire heart out to him on Friday night. What had she gotten back? His silence. No, it wouldn't do at all. Pam was sick of standing by and letting people choose how to treat her.

She burst out of her car door, wavered for a second, remembered his smug smile when he had told her he had gotten Thai, and started striding towards the door.

She opened the door without knocking, and walked directly into where she could hear the nearest voices.

And stopped.

"Mark?"

* * *

Jim had known this was a bad idea. Why he hadn't just told Pam the friend was out of town, he didn't know. And he didn't know what possessed him to even mention the trailer in the first place. Well, he kind of did: it definitely had something to do with the idea of being more useful than Roy, and not having him drive her home in his lives-in-the-city-and-drives-an-SUV-is-he-compensating-for-something truck. 

And now, here he was, in the living room of a man he hadn't talked to in months, trying to explain to him what the hell was happening when Jim didn't know it himself.

Their conversation had been rather surreal so far. It had started off with an awkward greeting – which Mark hadn't returned – and gone downhill from there.

"Jim, what the hell are you doing showing up here unannounced?" had been the first words out of Mark's mouth.

"Okay, um, okay. I need a favour." Jim had cursed himself. He sounded like a friggin' junkie, for Christ's sake.

"A favour?!" Mark had been livid. "Let me get this straight: I haven't heard from you since you told me you had been lying to me for six months and keeping me away from my future, and now you show up on my doorstep, asking for a favour?" Jim had only been able to nod. "Alright, I'll humour you. What wish exactly am I going to graciously grant you?"

"I need to borrow your trailer."

"What for?"

"To help out a friend."

"Which friend?"

"I can't tell you."

At that precise moment, Pam had walked into the room. "Mark?" she almost-whispered, looking utterly confused.

And that was where Jim was now, wishing he had realised what a horrible, horrible idea this was.

There was a long silence, both Pam and Mark visibly struggling with the other's presence. The silence lengthened, and gradually, both turned to Jim. He wanted to explain himself to both; but he knew he could never let Pam find out about his and Mark's estrangement.

He turned to Pam, pleading. "Pam, can you please go wait in the car? I can't... I can't do this right now, okay?"

Pam just stood there, still giving Jim an incomprehensible stare. "Jim..." she started, then stopped, looked back at Mark, and slowly nodded. Jim's shoulders fell with relief. She turned, gave an awkward glance to Mark, and left the room.

Another lengthy pause filled the room.

"So, that's happening now, is it? Maybe I was wrong about the whole 'she'll never be in love with you' thing," Mark said tightly.

"No, you weren't. And no, it isn't happening. Roy proposed to her."

"And she said yes?"

"She didn't say anything."

"And now she is running around with you?"

"She is living in your old room."

"But she is still together with Roy."

"Yes."

Yet another pause. "And you need the trailer..." Mark trailed off.

"So I can help her move some stuff from Roy's house to mine."

"You are going to Roy's – who she is still with – to give her a hand moving in to your house, where she is going to be living, with you, while she is still dating him."

"Yes."

"Jesus Christ, Jim. No wonder you look so fucked up."

Jim could only look at the floor. When Mark put it like that, Pam sounded like someone she wasn't. Jim knew it was only her trying to do the right thing, for her, for Jim, even for Roy; but for some reason, whenever Pam was involved, things just got messy. There was a final pause, this time one with a slightly sympathetic tone.

"The trailer is in the garage."

* * *

As Pam sat waiting in the car, she decided she had learnt her lesson for sticking her nose in other people's business. She had no idea what the hell was going on, but she knew she was a part of it, and now she was wondering if she _did_ want to know. 

Abruptly, Jim opened his door, started up the car, and backed it into the driveway in silence.

"He lent you the trailer?"

"Yeah," Jim replied laconically.

Pam struggled with herself briefly, and then gave in. Jim didn't want to tell her, but she had to ask. "Why?"

Jim looked at her meaningfully. "Pam, it's private, okay? If you ask me again, I will tell you, but I don't know... I don't know if you will want to hear it. And if I tell you – things won't be the same."

Pam's eyes prickled as Jim got out of the car to attach the trailer to the back. She tried to pretend to herself that she didn't know what he meant, that she didn't know what he would say if she asked. She was successful enough that she had been able to compose herself by the time Jim got back into the car.

They headed off to Pam's old house in silence.

* * *

**A/N: **_I am very happy with the way this chapter turned out, so be nice _:) 

_Another long one. It will have to last you until next weekend, though._

_Thanks again for reading!_

_P.S.: Do Americans call trailers trailers? You know, those things you attach to the back of your car and cart stuff around in? Because, I just realised, you call caravans 'trailers', so there may be some word swapping there. Too bad if there is - learn real English! _;)


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Band Aids

Jim had never been to Pam's house – hanging with Pam and Roy wasn't exactly his idea of a good time, regardless of what he was doing today – but he wasn't surprised when she pointed it out. It was one of those suburban housing developments where all 20 of the houses in the street were subtle variations of the same design. The homogeneity was Pam's style, in a way; she wasn't exactly someone who longed to stand out from the crowd, which suited Jim just fine. He had always hated those girls who loved to be noticed, jumping up on a stage at someone's wedding, dressing too overtly... it wasn't that he thought women shouldn't be comfortable with themselves, he just found something irresistibly cute about the girls who were different in more subtle ways.

Not that he found... well, it was true, he thought Pam was cute. There was no getting around it; even he didn't have _that_ strong a capacity for self-delusion. Still, there was something about this house that was missing. In his head, he had always pictured Pam's house as a more...

Plants! That was what was missing. In his mind, Pam's verandah would be populated by a few – not many, but a few – pot plants, some coriander, maybe a bit of mint. Pam was no green thumb, but Jim knew there was something about her that made the idea fit. But their porch only had (what he assumed was) Roy's fishing rod, Roy's boots, and a sad, faded chair that looked like it hadn't been used since the eighties, at least.

But, Pam directed him there just the same, and he supposed he had been wrong. After all, there was Roy's truck – a vehicle that had always seemed threatening in his mind, for some undefined reason – sitting in the driveway.

The drive with Pam had been utterly silent. Silences with Pam were always of the extremely uncomfortable kind: he knew some people said that friends were ones you could always share a comfortable silence with, but with Pam it was agony. Jim was constantly struggling with what he could or couldn't say to Pam, what passed the boundaries of friendship, what gave away a little too much of his feelings, what was downright inappropriate. This silence was fraught with an added element; Jim's last words and their implications hung in the air like, well, like a quick, embarrassed words spoken on the rooftop had hung over their friendship.

Jim would have attempted to joke, but he could only come up with a lame trailer pun that sounded pathetic even in his head, and that would probably be worse than silence. And besides, he had a lot to process, not the least of which was the pitying look in his best friend's eyes. Yes, he had become that guy, the guy he told himself that he would not become. The guy that is doing favours for that girl he can never get, and she is just stringing him along... a voice – the voice – in the back of his head told him Pam wasn't like that, but he pointedly ignored that voice. Where was he? Helping her to move in his house, where she decided she would stay, while she still dated a man that was wrong for her. If he was lucky she would spend half her time complaining about this guy who treated her like dirt but still got to see her smile in the morning after he had spent all night... The voice again protested, but anger was always better than the alternative. Anger was controllable. The other could not be controlled, was like an un-dammed river, flowing in one great big gush until there was nothing but a trickle left...

Jim was forced out of his head as they pulled up to the curb. He looked at Pam, and quickly looked away, scared by her false composure. Or, perhaps scared that it wasn't false.

He could see Roy standing in the doorway, looking almost comically ominous, but Jim wasn't laughing.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Pam spoke quietly, as she stared straight ahead.

"Why wouldn't I?" Jim returned with what was certainly false brightness. "Just a friend, helping out, after all." He could hear a faint hint of sarcasm in his voice, but was sure Pam missed it. She only turned to him, searching his face, and setting her jaw when she found what was there.

"Right. Of course."

* * *

So, here she was. This was where her good intentions, her desire to take more control in her life, had led her. Jim, her friend, always her friend, always just her _god-damn_ friend, like she had always wanted (Isn't that right? she asked herself, not even bothering to answer) and Roy, who she had wanted to propose to her, but what had she done there? What exactly was it that she wanted? Again, there was only silence from the bundle of dreams and hopes that she kept inside. 

And so, Jim and Roy and her at her house. This was most certainly not what she wanted, but she had a feeling it was necessary, like she needed Jim as a, a, crutch or something to get herself away from Roy long enough to think clearly about things. And she had a pretty good idea that coming here alone, getting Roy to help her, him being nice like he always was when he finally realised something was wrong, would have culminated in not thinking clearly about things.

So, she needed Jim, but she also had a pretty good idea that Jim and Roy and her was not going to work. Yet, what had she said? Necessary. Like the band-aid, and her mother had always said, just pull, pull that thing and then it is over.

Then again, when she had a band-aid to get rid of, she generally just sat there with an edge, slowly peeling and wincing at every grabbed hair...

Well, she had committed herself – and Jim – to pulling of this band-aid, and it was a big son-of-a-bitch and she wasn't going to pull back now. This was happening.

Roy was peering out of the door at her, at Jim, like some sort of recluse. Jesus.

Before she could think about it, she put her hand on the handle, and opened the door. She wanted to pause, but momentum was the thing; once you got that band-aid going, it was all the easier. She motioned for Jim to wait, and walked up to the door (her door?).

Roy just stared at her.

"Roy, I brought Jim. To help me."

Nothing. His gaze and silence were unnerving, but she continued nonetheless. "I know this is hard, Roy, but I need to do this. This isn't forever." She silently cursed herself. "This mightn't be forever. It is something I need to do, okay?"

"And I am just meant to sit here, and watch you... move in with him?"

"This isn't about him!" Pam's voice rose. "He has nothing to do with this, can you just listen for once?"

"Well, all I know is on Friday we were doing great, and now you are moving in with another guy, and I am supposed to sit here and take it, like nothing is wrong?! Pammy, what did I do? Can you just tell me what to do, so this will be over?"

"I don't know, Roy! I don't know why it is like this, but it is, and I can't fix it." Pam calmed down. "But I do know we are doing this. I am sorry, about everything, but this is happening."

"Fine. Well, don't expect me to enjoy it. I am going out."

"Okay."

He banged through the door that had remained shut for their conversation, and, with one hateful look at Jim, bundled himself into his truck and screeched out of the driveway.

Pam let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. It was a little better now, she decided, after the thing was done. Jim remained in the car. She motioned for him to come in, and, as he sidled up to her, she felt a little frustration surface. He hadn't even tried to give her any support, had just hidden in the car. She remembered making him wait, but really, he could have at least been there. She decided against saying whatever she had been going to say. She instead walked through the door without a word.

* * *

Jim followed, with a little inward shrug. He had decided to stop trying to figure Pam out – she was obviously clueless enough when it came to what _he_ was feeling – and now was not the time for a heart to heart. 

But Roy – now he was a man Jim would always be able to read in a second. The least the guy could do was try to help Pam through this, but regardless of what had passed between him and Pam on the porch, Jim had known the outcome of that conversation. Run, run, run, ignore the problem... Roy had done it whenever he and Pam had a fight, and he would do it when he found out Pam was pregnant – if he ever let that happen – and he would do it when Pam said she wanted to move to a bigger place and the list went on and on in Jim's mind. He could see Roy's decisions so clearly, and what's more, he could see the why behind it; Roy loved himself more than he could ever love Pam.

And Pam just would not see it. Ignoring the obvious hypocrisy, Jim felt sure he was doing the right thing in not talking to Pam about it. It was pointless. She was blind.

So, he followed her in to the house, carrying the same silence that had defined their trip here. And, as he entered the relative darkness of Pam's old house, he again had that feeling of wrongness. The décor – well, he didn't pretend to understand Pam completely, but he knew that she had a little more design flair than this almost shabby mix of second-hand and IKEA furniture. He scoffed condescendingly at the idea that Roy probably thought IKEA was the pinnacle of modern furnishings.

It must have been a little less inward than he had imagined, because Pam's head whipped around.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"Oh, nothing." Jim said, embarrassed.

"Seriously, what are you laughing at?" Pam stopped, and, facing him, started to advance on him challengingly. "What is it that you find so god-damn funny?"

Jim had no idea where this hostility came from. She was now dangerously close, but this was the last way he imagined he would get close to her. He tried to think up an excuse, failed, and decided he may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. "I was just thinking, well, this is not exactly how I pictured your house."

"Really? And what is it exactly that isn't to your liking, Mr. Oh-So-High-And-Mighty?"

Jim's eyes widened, but felt himself replying in the same tone. "Well, for starters, you decided to go with the faux-mahogany cabinet to match the blue vinyl couch?"

"You know what? I love it." Pam replied with undisguised venom. "And I am sorry if you don't like my choices, Jim" - a little sneer on his name - "but here's a fun fact: they are mine to make. So maybe you should keep your opinions the hell to yourself!" On this last exclamation, she poked him in the chest.

Without thinking, he grabbed her arm, just below the wrist; not hard, but certainly firmly. "You know what, Pam? You have long since forfeited the right, the right..." Jim was stopped mid-sentence. He could feel Pam's soft skin under his, and the vague hint of her racing pulse.

Her eyes were furious, but her hand was no longer pulling away. In fact, it was starting to push, and he was pushed back, slowly at first, then quickly, quickly, and that same look – the wild look – was in her eyes. And suddenly it was her who had his wrist in her grip, and it was pressed against her – against Roy's – wall, and he felt her other hand on his chest, not soft, but pressing painfully, and then he could no longer feel anything but her lips, pressing harder on his lips, sucking, almost _eating_ him. He was stunned, and then, amazingly, furious that she would do this to him.

He pushed her away, using the leverage of the back of the wall, and their mouths broke off, and then, without thinking, he manoeuvred her around and slammed her against the wall, and this time they were both pressing hard against each other. He felt every curve and bulge of her body, her breasts firm against his chest and he leant into her even harder, one of her legs between his thighs, their mouths fiercely interlocked, their tongues sparring – no, that wasn't the word – attacking each other. Jim opened his eyes again, and saw Pam's open as well. There was a pausing, and suddenly Pam was pushing him away, forcing him off her, and he felt himself ache as he lost the sensation of her under him, on him.

"What are we doing? We can't be doing this. This- this isn't..." Pam circled him warily, as if he was some sort of wild animal. "Why would you...? Why did I...?"

"Pam." She looked extremely frightened. "Pam, I..."

"No!" she shouted violently, cutting across him. Had she known how he was going to finish that sentence? Had he known? "No! Just... leave me alone, okay?" Her face began to crumple, but before he could say another word, she turned and fled down a dark hallway. He started to follow, and stopped as he heard a door slam.

He felt blood trickle down his chin, from where she had passionately clamped her teeth down on his lower lip.

He heard Roy pull into the driveway.

He slumped to the floor, to the distant sound of Pam's sobs.

* * *

**A/N: **_Angst! That was intense. Well, it was _meant_ to be intense ;)_

_Sorry for the lateness, needed to get it right._

_Hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as I did writing.  
_


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Showers

"You're bleeding." Jim stared blankly, not even able to appreciate Roy's almost comical expression. "Why are you bleeding?" He felt woozy all of a sudden; as if his centre of gravity had just shifted to the top of his head, and a slight movement would topple him. "I said, why the fuck are you bleeding all over my damn carpet, Halpert?"

The sound of Pam's sobs broke Jim from his stupor. Roy seemed to catch on as well. "What is going on here? Why the hell is Pam cr-"

"Roy, for once in your miserable excuse for a life, can you shut your fucking mouth." Jim's tone was soft, but dangerous. "Please, just shut it. Use your fucking eyes, man, do you think everything is okay?"

Roy's mouth opened, then closed, paralleling his fist curiously. He looked as if he was deciding whether or not the faux-mahogany cabinet would be ruined by Jim's bloodstains; Jim left him to figure that one out and started down the hall.

He let himself be guided by her soft cries, the sound of her throat catching on her tears. Even in the state he was in, he could recognise her touches in the décor: a locally painted portrait here, a doily there. By the sound of her cries, it looked as if she were in there door ahead of him. He could see the edge of tiles under the crack of the door, and guessed that it was a bathroom.

Jim hesitated. What the fuck was he going to say?

"Pam?" Jim blanched. He hadn't heard Roy shuffle in beside him, and they had spoken eerily enough at the same time. They shared a glance filled with animosity, and quickly turned back to the door.

Her sobs stopped. There was an audible sniffle.

"Jim? I..." There was a pause. "Jim, I think it is best if you go."

"Pam? You want me to..."

"Just go, Jim."

The room began to spin. The taste of blood – hers or his – on his lips, the smug smile on Roy's face, the doily, the quiet from the other side of the door, they all swam through Jim's head. 'Bad news' is what Mark's eyes had said, and bad news was right. She wanted him to go. She wanted him to...

* * *

Pam made herself open the door, but she already knew it was too late. She could see the edge of Jim's car speeding away through the the window. What had she done? She could still taste Jim's blood in her mouth, and then she felt angry and guilty all at once. How dare he... but no, it had been her. The guilt came crashing down upon her, in waves, as she remembered all that she had done to him. She knew he loved her, but she had put Jim through everything in the past two days; she couldn't face him again.

She turned to Roy. "I am staying tonight."

"Really? That's great, Pammy! And hey, I don't want to have sex, let's just take it as slowly as you want it."

Pam almost fell back into her old routine, and tried to shrug him off, but she couldn't. She knew he was trying, but what he was trying for, she did not know. "Roy, I'm sorry. It's over."

"But you just-"

"It's been over for a long time, Roy. I am staying until I can find another place, but as soon as I do, that's it. We aren't the people for each other. I wish we were, but we aren't."

"Pam, I'll change, I can fix this, I can become who you want to be. Just tell me what to do, baby, and I will do it. You want to get married? You want to have a baby? You want to buy a house? You want to quit your job and paint? Anything, I'll do it, I swear."

Pam closed the gap between them, and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. "I know you would try, Roy, but if you only want to change to keep from losing me, I am afraid you already have." He stared, the truth dawning. "I know this is going to be hard for you, but I need you to leave me alone for a while. I am having a shower, and then setting up the guest room for myself. Don't try now, Roy, it's too late. I'm sorry."

Roy stood, searching for words. She left him, her head held a little higher, but her little smile fake.

She held it until she got into the bathroom and turned the taps on, but then she broke down. She sat in the middle of the bathroom, on the pink mat that she had bought three and a half months ago and Roy hadn't noticed, and let the tears flow. She cried for all that she had done to both men, and all that she was going to do. She cried for herself, and for her past, and she cried because she didn't know what was going to happen next. She cried because she couldn't make herself go to see Jim.

An hour later, the water was still running, but Roy could not hear it. He was gone.

* * *

The image of Pam wouldn't leave his mind. The taste and feel of her, her nails digging into the back of his head... Oh God. He had thought that at least when he experienced it, his fantasies might have gone away, but it was worse, far worse. He tried to put the thought out of his mind, but he knew it was useless, so eh allowed himself. It was horrible and wonderful, picturing over and over the feeling of her on him, pushing against his chest with hers. He was intoxicated. He couldn't stop thinking about it.

After what felt like hours, he forced himself to take stock of his surroundings. He was in bed, at home. He knew Pam wasn't here. He knew he should do something... but she had told him to go, hadn't she? Well, he was gone.

Jim didn't know what to do with himself. He flicked his stereo on. The music was too upbeat, so he flicked it off again. He noticed the light was fading, but he didn't turn his lamp on.

He thought about work tomorrow. It felt like so long, so long since he had been to work. Did Michael still exist? Was it possible for there to be someone that incredibly clueless in a world that was so complicated? He didn't think he could face Michael tomorrow, or Tuesday. He wasn't sure whether he could ever face anyone again.

Jim admitted it wasn't them he was scared of, just that she would be there. And that was all it took – as soon as his thought turned back to her, he had her filling his mind again. He pictured sex with her like it had been with his last girlfriend in the best of times – her hair all over his face, totally unselfconscious. The look he was imaging didn't fit on Pam's face, not the Pam he knew, not Cardigans-and-Potted-Plants Pam, but he didn't care, did he? No, there was another side to Pam, a side that betrayed there was more to her than the asexual image she presented; as if he had thought there wasn't. Pam had sex, she was capable of getting aroused – more than that, she got _hungry,_ she had tried to _eat _him.

Once again, hopelessly, Jim tried to derail his train of thoughts. A voice in him – the voice he had grown to loathe – told him she was more important as a friend. Jim, with a well-practised ease, ignored the voice. The time for friendship had long past.

He couldn't stop it. He went to the shower that she had been in, uncovered, less than twenty hours ago.

It felt wrong, and good.

* * *

There was a soft knock at the door, and Pam hurriedly buried herself under the covers, rolling away from the doorway. Her face flushed furiously. Her heart beat against the soft covers, which suddenly seemed so coarse.

A pause, and then another knock. "Pam? I made some dinner, if you want some."

Pam willed herself to breathe naturally; she was sure he could hear her on the other side of the door.

"Pam?" There was another soft noise, and then the noise she was dreading: the creak of a doorknob. He couldn't possibly presume to come in when she was obviously sleeping, could he? Anger deepened her flush, but she regulated her breathing to a reasonable approximation of her usual rhythm. A sliver of light fell on the pillow next to her. She was facing away from the light, but she narrowed her eyes to slits, just the same, in case.

The door hung open. Nothing was happening. She could still hear him occasionally shuffling his feet on the carpet. What was he doing?

He stood there waiting for something. An eternity later, the sliver of light narrowed, and then disappeared.

Pam let out her breath after she was sure he wasn't waiting at the door. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. She had been so close to finished, and now she didn't feel like anything at all. She thought for a moment on the irony of Roy stopping her from finishing – it wasn't as if he had helped her much along the way before – but when she felt her mouth twisting into a bitter smirk, she gave it up.

This was not her. She was not someone who hid in her own guest room – from the man who had just asked her to marry him, no less – and lost herself in wild fantasies while he lumbered around a room away. She most certainly had never been someone who indulged in the sort of sordid things that had been running through her mind up until a moment ago. Well, she amended, she hadn't since before she met Roy. Maybe that was why it felt so... felt so...

Good, she made herself admit. It felt good. It felt horrible because Jim wasn't actually there, horrible because in all likelihood she was going to have to sleep in these sheets, horrible because Roy was a two layers of thin plaster away, but it just made it feel better. It was horrible, like the taste of Jim's blood in her mouth had been when she realised that she had bitten him; but the horror had awakened in her a desire to throw off her inhibitions and do something _worse._

She threw her covers off once more. A few minutes later, she realised she was biting her lip, and stopped. How _horrible_ it would be if she made just enough noise that Roy might hear.

_That_ felt good.

* * *

**A/N: **_Apologies for the absence. Extended apologies on my profile page - won't happen again, I promise, I have a backlog of chapters now, so look forward to smooth updates._

_Hope you liked this chapter, it is my favourite so far, I think. Sorry again. See you in less than a week!  
_


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Promises

Never before had Jim looked towards a Monday with the singular consuming dread with which he contemplated the one that had just arrived. The blearing of his alarm clock showed that, despite his best efforts, he could not make time turn backwards, or at least remain still. There was no sun, at least; only rain, rain, rain, suitably melodramatic. The noise droned and droned until he could hear nothing else. It was a justification. It asked him to put off getting up, and he was only too happy to oblige.

It was the same as he felt last night. The pure difficulty of imagining how he was supposed to act on Monday, back in the real world – the world of coffee, and polite laughter, and actual work – made his mind shut off. He couldn't process it. It was too impossible. So, he had done whatever he could to take his mind off his question. It was all too easy to let himself give into that temptation, one he had been avoiding the best he could. It seemed so obsessed, unhealthy; yet it hadn't stopped him. He would do anything to take distract himself from asking himself the painful questions he knew would come with inaction.

Yet here he was. It was Monday. Seven thirty-three. Seven thirty-four. Could he actually go to work, and face Her? What if she ignored him? What if she screamed at him? What if – and Jim instantly felt his insides drop at the thought – what if she smiled, and pretended nothing had happened at all?

Seven thirty-five. And there was more than just her, there was the whole prospect of having to refocus on the mundane, when he was going through such turmoil. Of having to put up with Michael's jokes. Michael had an uncanny way of (obliviously, but quickly) guessing what was making Jim uncomfortable, even if he only thought he was joking. He could see it now: "Jim, my man, what's up? Girl troubles?" (there would be a wink) "I tell you what, that Pam is pretty hot, why don't you take her out?" (a pregnant pause, while Pam looked on in horror) "Oops! But she's taken. Or maybe that is the problem in the first place?" (he would leave back to his office, smugly thinking he was hilarious as the rest of the office noted the telling look on Jim's face).

Seven thirty-seven. Already? Come on, there was no way that was two minutes, Jim thought. Maybe his alarm clock was broken. He knew he had to make a decision soon. Fuck it. Why not take a sick day? That's what they were there for. He doubted anyway would really care, and besides, getting fired would be better than fine. It was probably just what he needed. What would Pam think if he didn't show? Well, the worst she could think was that it was his fault, and that would pretty much be the truth, Jim thought. Yes, a day to let her realise what she had done wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Maybe even two?

The snooze ran out, and the alarm came blaring again. "Shut up," Jim growled savagely, and, reaching out, slammed the top of the buttons. He could reach his phone from his bed, and leave a message. Maybe he would grab some dvds, some junk food, and treat himself to a day of sloth. He stretched out for the phone. No-one would miss him, he thought, and then laughed slightly bitterly at his own histrionics. Well, at least he wouldn't have to deal with his problems for a whole other day, or maybe even two.

As he listened to the beginning of the recording – Dwight's matter-of-fact voice, enunciating every syllable with measured gravity (it had taken years for Michael to let him record the answering machine message) – he almost smiled. The beep sounded. "OK, now, I need you to listen very carefully, Dwight..."

* * *

...very carefully, Dwight," came the words floating through the door. Pam froze. Jim's voice. Jim's voice was coming inside. It was dark in there; she couldn't see him. Fuck! What was he doing here? She had come...

Pam thumped the heel of her palm against her forehead. Answering machine, she realised, with a twinge of embarrassment. She was being paranoid. She had come to work especially early today, in the hopes of seeing Jim, and sorting a few things out before anyone else had a chance to overhear things. That and she was worried that Roy would offer her a lift, and she would be forced into the same car as him for lack of a real reason why she shouldn't. So she had walked to the bus stop – something she did on the odd occasion Roy was too hungover to drive either her or himself – and caught the early bus. Her cheeks had flushed at the thought of last night; had she been loud enough for Roy to hear her? It had seemed justifiable, almost as if Roy deserved the humiliation, when she had been alone in the guest room last night, but now... well, it certainly wasn't something that she had ever imagined herself doing.

Well, that was the choice she made, and regardless of whether or not Roy had heard her, she wasn't going to dwell on it. She could hear Jim's voice, distorted through the cheap speaker of the machine. Pam fumbled with the keys, finally got the three heavy duty locks opened – three guesses as to who had insisted upon those, she grumbled – and rushed into the reception area, plonking her bag on the chair and caught the sound of Jim's phone being put back into the cradle. She impatiently rewound and hit the play button as soon as the machine clicked stop. Jim's voice came wafting up to her.

"OK, now, I need you to listen very carefully, Dwight, and I know it is you, because you are the only employee... dedicated... enough to get hear this early." Pam snickered silently to herself, remembering when they had first happened upon Dwight in the early hours; he apparently got here before anyone else in order to 'secure the perimeter' – although they both suspected it had more to do with being able to sit in Michael's chair without anyone else watching. As Jim's gravelly morning voice continued, she turned her attention back to the message. "Dwight, firstly, I am not an alien, an international spy, an imposter or a Sith Lord, and you know it, because you, me, and my deranged family are the only ones who know that my middle name is Rufus. God only knows how you found that out."

Pam goggled at the machine in open-mouthed disbelief. Rufus? Oh, it couldn't be.

"Dwight, I am not going to be into work today. I am taking one of the sick leave days that, I feel I must remind you, are guaranteed by _law_. Now, even though the _law_ states I am not obligated to prove this to anyone, I know that you have never let little things like civil liberties get in the way of your quest for justice against the innocent. So, if it'll keep you quiet, I will give you the name and number of my doctor. I visited her last night. She _is _qualified. Now hold on for a second." There was a pause, Pam could clearly picture Jim staring off into the distance and scratching his nose, waiting long enough to make Dwight think he was searching for the number. She distinctly heard a bored yawn, and then Jim's voice came through the machine once more. "Found it. Her name is Dr. Pervetido, and the number is..." Pam's grin widened as she recognised the international extension for dialling numbers in Mexico.

Jim's voice took on a hard tone. "Dwight... I am serious now, please, leave me alone today. Is that too much too ask? One day. And... I have a message for... actually, nevermind. No messages. 'Bye."

A message for ME, Pam screamed in her head. Why wouldn't he just say it? She was just here... Pam had never felt so far away from Jim. Often, she had scarily clear insights into exactly what he was thinking, but sometimes, when that hard tone crept into his voice, she had no idea who he was. That Jim scared her.

Pam sighed. Roy had been a pain this morning – well, he had never been a morning person. One thing that they had in common, she guessed. She had just ended their relationship. Her face flushed. He could have easily heard her last night. What had she done? Her mind flashed back to her lurid fantasy. She could almost taste Jim in her lips again... the metallic taste of blood that would forever be associated with him in her mind...

The door clicked, and Dwight walked – no, strode is the proper verb, Pam corrected herself – strode in. He looked at her uncomprehending, then suspiciously.

"What are you doing here? Who let you in?"

"Dwight, I have a key."

"Well, that's... you don't have the security clearance. Give it here." He held out his hand. Pam ignored him.

"Dwight, we sell paper, and we have no money on the premises. What could possibly be the harm of me having a copy of the key? And do I have to remind you that I have just as much..." Pam trailed off, quickly realising her mistake.

"Assistant to the Regional Manager isn't just a title, Pam!"

"Yes, Dwight, that is exactly what it is, and has always been. Now, calm down, I am not a saboteur, just a receptionist. Speaking of which, there is a message on the answering machine, why don't you take it while I get myself a coffee?" Pam did not bother to wait for an answer, as she rushed – strode, haha – to the break room. What exactly did Jim mean to tell her? What was happening?

* * *

Phone. Ringing. Jim could barely hear it under the blanket of music, but his shades were drawn, so luckily he heard it light up. Should he answer? No.

Jim stared at the roof.

Who was it? No harm in checking. It could be... someone important. ('Who, a telemarketer?' Jim's inside voice sneered. It knew exactly who he was waiting for a call from. Jim – as always – ignored it.) The screen was lit up with a combination of digits which meant it could be anyone at work. The place where Pam was right now. Did he want to talk to her? Yes, desperately. Should he talk to her? Probably.

He sighed, and let the phone ring out. Turned up the music. Rolled over.

Unfortunately he had left the phone on the bed, and three minutes later he felt the ring vibrate on the mattress. It could be someone else, he reasoned. Something important. ('Like, a paper emergency?' said the voice, dripping with sarcasm.) The phone continued to ring. Jim looked at it.

Pressed the button. Put the phone to his ear, and out came the sweet digitalisation of Dunder-Mifflin's receptionist.

"Hello? Is someone..." Shit. The music. Too loud for the phone. He grabbed the remote and turned it off.

"Sorry," Jim wheezed, and then cleared his throat. "Sorry. I was watching a movie, and I couldn't find the pause button."

"Oh." There was a long pause, Jim remaining defiantly quiet. "Um. So I wanted to say I was sorry about yesterday." About which part? thought Jim – the attack or sending him away? He said nothing. "I don't know what came over me... I guess it had just been a long... well, anyway."

Jim almost flinched. Shit. She was sorry about the kiss. His silence was obviously irking her, but he could not think of anything to say.

"Anyway," she repeated, "I told Roy. I mean, I said it was over."

"But you stayed there?" Jim blurted out bitterly.

"Oh, no! I didn't... I mean, I just stayed in the guest room." Her tone and her silence said it was none of his business.

"Sorry. Not my business."

"It's okay. So, I was just calling to check up on you."

"Oh, I'm fine, you know me. The prospect of Dwight was too much this morning," he made up lamely.

"I know what you mean. Oh, hold on a second." There was a muffled sound, and a long pause, and then she came back on the line. "Michael is monitoring all phone calls since he caught Dwight on the phone to Mexico this morning. You wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you Jim?"

Despite himself, Jim grinned. "Beesly! How could you accuse me of that? I have been at home all day! What could Dwight calling a Mexican phone sex line" - there was a clearly audible snort from Pam - "have to do with me?"

"Sorry. Didn't mean to question your integrity." There was a slight silence as they both realised things still weren't alright between them. "Umm... so, I was wondering, Roy has a truckload of stuff that he is going to bring back to your house. Well, actually, it's Mark's trailer. We left it there when I... when I decided to stay last night. Is it still okay to move in?"

Jim paused. What was he getting himself into? But he didn't really have a choice.

"Of course."

"Great! So, um, I'll see you this afternoon?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Is it alright if I cook tonight?" Pam asked. She had a craving for a nice, home-cooked meal tonight. Something stable. Something that said: 'My life may be completely screwed, but I can still rely on spaghetti.' In fact, she had a great recipe for-

"Hey, you have something against my fabulous cuisine?"

Pam did a reasonable approximation of an affronted tone. "Of course not! I just had a craving for something, you know, good."

"Are you kidding? And why do you assume I am a bad cook?"

"Well, I have only ever seen you make grilled cheese sandwiches."

"And were they good?"

"Yes, I guess, but they were grilled cheese sandwiches, and you're..."

"What? A guy?"

"No! I didn't-"

"So, what, men can't cook now?"

"No! I just never thought you were..."

"Fine!" Jim barked in mock anger. "Tonight, you are getting a dinner that you will never forget."

"Yessir!"

"And none of that cheek, Beesly, or you'll have to wash up."

"Yessir!"

"And if you say 'yessir' one more time you can unload your own damn furniture!" There was considered silence, and Pam piped up again.

"Yes ma'am."

"I hope you can hear my eyes rolling from that end. Now, don't you have work to do?"

"Well, every time I am on an incoming phone call, Michael picks up the line to see if the caller has a foreign accent."

"So, call up one of our Mexican-American customers."

"No! I couldn't do that to them!"

"Yeah, you're right. Unfair. Well, I'll see you this afternoon."

"Sure. I will prepare myself to be amazed by the power of your cooking."

"Oh, you'll be eating your words soon enough, Beesly."

"That pun hurt."

"Go away!" Jim hung up, grinning. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. Though, he did have to put up with Roy this afternoon – that was going to be fun.

Jim leafed through his drawer. A thought crossed his mind – he did a reasonable Mexican accent. Well, enough to fool Michael, that's for sure. What was Dwight's extension again?

* * *

The silence in the cab of Roy's truck was deafening. Pam was sympathetic to Roy; he _had_ been through a lot. But, it wasn't really her fault, she thought. Was she supposed to keep on pretending to love him forever? Was it her problem that the man wasn't what she wanted to spend the rest of her life with? It wasn't as if he was innocent in all this, she reasoned, as he reached over to turn up the radio on her least favourite station. If he had tried a little harder... if he had been a little more like...

She swiftly derailed that train of thought. She surreptitiously glanced over at Roy, who glanced out of the window straight away. Her stomach sank. He hated her. Maybe he had the right idea. After all, Jim did as well, didn't he? No-one at work ever really showed anything other than polite disinterest or – in the case of the male employees – offhand acknowledgement that she wasn't ugly. At least before last weekend, she had a loving boyfriend and a great best friend. Now what did she have?

Although, as cold as he might have been over the weekend – until yesterday afternoon, at least, when 'cold' wasn't the word that came to mind – he did seem a little closer to his old self today. She almost felt like thanking Dwight today (after he had been berated the second time for calling 'Mr. Taco', who sounded suspiciously like one James 'Rufus' Halpert) for bringing Jim out of his... well, for making Jim his old self again. If only for a while. And tonight, they were having dinner together, just her and Jim. Hopefully it would go better than it had last time.

A noise from next to her pulled her from her thoughts. Roy cleared his throat.

"So, Pam." Pam said nothing. She didn't know what to say. "Moving in with Halpert? Well, I can't say it wasn't expected."

"Roy," Pam began tiredly, "I already told you it wasn't-"

"Yeah, sure." Another long silence. "Look, if you want to leave me for him, the least you could do is tell me."

"I am not in love with Jim Halpert." Pam winced inwardly. The denial was too high-pitched, and seemingly rehearsed, to be believable. She rushed on to compensate. "We have, and always will be friends. I needed a place to stay on short notice. That's all."

"Pam, you don't have to lie to me any more. You've ditched me."

"Roy-"

"Just say it! That's all I want you to say! Say you are leaving me for him! Tell me what I already know – that you've fucked him. You have, haven't you?"

Roy's driving was dangerously erratic, too often diverging from the guidelines. Scranto roads weren't heavy with traffic, but enough that the wrong luck around the wrong corner would be the end of them. Pam was torn between her rage at Roy's presumption and the need to calm him down.

"Jim and I aren't anything but friends, and neither of us wants to be. That is the truth."

"You lying bitch! Why can't you just say it? I know that he wants you – even if I couldn't see it in his eyes every time he looks at you, Angela caught you out on that rooftop six months ago. I had to hear from _her_ that the guy has already tried to steal you away from me, and now you won't even admit it?"

"Roy, Jim didn't know-"

"Stop defending him! How long have I been with you, sticking with you no matter what, and he comes along and you just jump into his bed? And you have the... the _nerve_ to fucking accuse _me_ of messing up?"

Pam could no longer keep her rage bottled up, even though Roy's truck was revving higher than she had heard it running before, and a glance at the speedometer confirmed her fears.

"Shut the fuck up, Roy, okay? You don't know a fucking thing about me, or Jim for that matter. You are a selfish prick! Yo-"

The backhanded slap cut her short. Her face abruptly burst into pain. She hadn't even seen it coming. After a momentary pause of surprise, she began to cry. She could feel blood leaking from her nose already.

"Fuck, Pam, I'm sorry. Fuck. I didn't mean to. Here" - he extended an arm toward her, she saw through her already swelling left eye, and she cringed instinctively - "Fuck. Pam, you know I would never, you just got me so..."

Even through her squinted eyes, Pam was aware that Roy had both taken his eyes off the road and unwittingly sped up. She tried to tell him to turn back to the road, but her throat was hoarse and nothing came out but a choked gasp.

It was too late anyway.

All Pam heard was an incredibly loud screech, and then the blackness came.

* * *

**A/N: **_Ack! Dramatic!_

_Longest chapter ever... excitement. See you soon! _


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Connections

Cream. The key is the cream, said the website. Not too thick, not too thin, and has to be mixed at the exact right time. The seafood was frying up, the pastry laying ready on his well-greased pans, and everything else had been timed to perfection. Twilight was rapidly giving way to night outside his window. The recipe – committed to memory, so as to not give Pam the satisfaction of knowing he had sought help in creating his masterpiece – was being followed perfectly. The smell of prawns and crab meat swum around his apartment.

Cream, however, was not distracting Jim from the problem at hand. There was nothing wrong with his dinner – in fact, it was good enough to make someone forget about the drama of the past weekend – but his guest. When Pam had been late coming home, he had assumed she had gone back to Roy's for a few more things. It was quickly becoming a little too late for that to be plausible, and he began to worry a little. Would Pam stay at Roy's tonight? There was no way that she would miss his dinner without giving so much as a paltry call to him, he was sure. He didn't want to interfere in her private life, but...

Decided, he grabbed his phone and dialled Roy's house. He didn't want to talk to Roy, but where else was she going to be? She was in Roy's truck, after all. Jim readied himself to deal with Pam's boyfriend – ex-boyfriend, he corrected himself with a degree of satisfaction – as the shrill ring of the phone sounded through the receiver. And readied. And waited. What could they be doing that would take them that long to get to the phone?

Jim hung up after twelve rings. What could he- cell! Shit, where was her number? Didn't know. Did he know it anyway? Jim instantly brought it up in his head. I guess I do, he thought. Pacing around his kitchen – stir the cream – he punched in the right numbers. "Just making sure my beautiful dinner isn't wasted," he practised aloud. "You alright then, Pam?"

Too concerned. Fuck! Voicemail. "Hi Beesly, its Jim, just checking up on you." Wince. "Uh, I mean, I wouldn't want you to miss out on the ecstasy of my cooking. So, you know, give us a call. Bye." Jim again killed the call with a frustrated poke of the phone. His pacing increased speed. Pam very rarely had her cell off. It was very un-Pam to be this late, not to call him, _and _to have her cell off.

Maybe something... shit. Maybe something had happened to her. No, you are being paranoid, Jim told himself. There's plenty of reasonable explanations for this.

Jim couldn't think of any.

They decided to stop somewhere for dinner? Well, it wasn't exactly a long journey from work to Roy's house, so that was pretty unlikely, and besides, she would have called. Jim wondered if they had made up... still, even if the worst had happened, Pam still would have called. He was sure that Pam's phone was charged. He was so sure she would have...

Well, he couldn't exactly go around calling hospitals, even if he thought they had had an accident. Maybe... her mother! If something had happened, maybe she would...

But he couldn't call, could he? Not if Pam was only a couple of hours late. He could see how that call would go: "No... well, she's only a couple of hours late... yes, I know you are three hours away... she had issues she needed to work out with her ex... sorry for bothering you."

No, he could wait. She was probably fine.

Jim smelt his seafood burning. One look told him it was already past the point of being salvaged. He sighed, turned off the element, and left his cream on the bench. Maybe he could distract himself with some TV.

* * *

Roy gained consciousness later that night. At first, he didn't open his eyes; instead he focused his concentrating on enduring the extreme pain in his left arm. He was lying in a way that left the sorest part exposed, but he could still feel his slightest movements tugging at the skin, pulling what he assumed was a large gash open. 

Eventually, he awakened enough to control the pain and open his eyes. The blinding light eventually dimmed, and he saw he was in the hospital. What had happened?

A car crash, he remembered. Fuck, his truck! He didn't have it insured! Jesus, it must have been completely written off. How was he going to get to...

Pam! Roy's heart sunk even lower. Was she okay? Suddenly, he remembered hitting her, remembered he had been going way over the limit. He would never be able to forgive himself if she wasn't alright.

Ignoring the other doctors in the room, he started to struggle to get up. He had to find Pam. He had to tell her that he was sorry. You've really fucked up this time, he thought to himself. Tears were beginning to form in his eyes. She has to be alright, didn't she?

Gentle but firm hands pushed him back to his bed, and the drone he realised had been floating around in his head for the past few minutes solidified into a voice.

"Sir, you will have to lie down. You have a large piece of metal embedded in your arm – we're preparing you for surgery."

"I have to see Pam," Roy croaked.

"Ms. Beesly? I'm afraid you can't."

"Why?" Roy whispered hoarsely, trying to swallow but finding it too painful. "What is wrong with her? Is she okay?"

"Ms. Beesly should be fine. Now, just lie back down. In a couple of minutes, you'll be on the operating table."

"What happened?" Roy managed to push out, as he lay back down onto his bed, wincing at the shot of pain the movement caused to his arm. The fog of sleep was beginning to reclaim him.

"You hit a tree. Ms. Beesly suffered some serious injuries, but she is expected to make a full recovery."

A mixture of grief and relief lulled Roy back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Elizabeth Beesly settled back in the chair next her daughter's hospital bed. Her eyes were on her trembling hands in her lap, unwilling to look upon her Pam in such an injured state. She supposed that she could check up on Roy three doors down, but that was the last thing she wanted to do. No, she wasn't ready for Roy Anderson just yet; but she would be, soon. And when she was... well, he was going to be in more trouble than he should ever be in. But, she thought with a sigh, she supposed she better let him heal. After all, he hadn't hurt his daughter on purpose. 

It had been just under seven hours since she had gotten the phone call from the hospital, and the drive to Scranton had taken an hour less than her usual three. She supposed it was ridiculous to speed so much when your daughter was inn the hospital from injuries sustained in a car accident. She didn't really care. The doctors had been frighteningly ambiguous on the phone - "She has sustained serious injuries, Mrs. Beesly, but she should be okay," he had said, but however subtly the 'should' was slipped in, Liz had heard it - and Pat was out and unreachable, so she had flown in a near-panic to her car, and not calmed down until the doctors had thrust a tea into her hands, and told her that her daughter was going to be alright.

But Pam did not look alright. She had come out of surgery a couple of hours ago. The doctor had told Liz that she had badly broken her leg, and been severely knocked on the head. The resetting of the leg was done, but the extent of the damage to her head could only be determined after Pam woke up. Liz couldn't help but hear an 'if' implied in the sentence. That was the only real damage, said the doctor. Superficially, she was bruised, and had minor scratches all over her. She had been hit on the back of the head – gauze now covered that wound – but she also had managed to get her nose broken.

She seemed to be sleeping peacefully; the doctors said it wasn't normal sleep – not a coma either, they reassured her – but to Liz, it looked as if Pam could wake at any moment. Anyway, Pat was on his way, with Pam's brother George. George had thankfully been able to reach Pat at the golf course, when Liz had called from the hospital. They should be here soon, she guessed. She fiddled with her ring.

A whisper of a noise reached her ears. She instantly looked up, but Pam's eyes were still closed. Pulling her chair close enough to be able to clasp Pam's hand between her own, she tentatively whispered: "Pam?"

No reaction. But- Pam's lips had just moved, whether in the process of breathing or not, Liz couldn't tell. She waited, then when she couldn't bear it any more, she spoke again, a little more loudly, "Honey? Can you hear me?"

Nothing. Sighing, she lent back in her chair, letting Pam's hand rest on the white hospital sheets.

And then Pam's eyes fluttered open.

"Mum?"

Liz was overcome with emotion as she rushed to her daughter's side. "Oh, baby, you're okay! Thank god!" she croaked as she grabbed Pam's hand once more. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm... what happened?"

"You were in an accident, honey. Roy's truck hit a tree."

"Roy..." Pam's eyes widened, and a look of fear came into them. She struggled to look around. "He isn't-"

"Shush, Pam, he's fine. He is a couple of rooms away. They are doing some minor surgery on his arm, but he will be fine." Pam looked relieved, but still troubled. She pulled her hand from Liz's, and touched her nose, wincing at the pain. "The doctors say something must have hit you, a piece of the tree or something," Liz added, trying to be helpful. Pam's brow was still creased. "Don't worry about it, there's no permanent damage. You will be fine."

Pam made a non-committal sound that might have been agreement. Then a look of horror came into her eyes. "Jim!" she gasped, and grabbed her mother's hand with surprising strength. "Mum, you have to call him! He was waiting for me," she added. It was Liz's turn to furrow her brow, this time in confusion. "We were... we were going to have dinner. A lot of things have happened. Just tell him what happened, okay?"

"Sure, honey. You can tell me all about it later. I'll go and make the call, and the doctors will come and check up on you. Your father and brother are on the way."

Pam looked a lot more relaxed, and she lay her head back on the pillow. Liz realised she was breathing a little easier. Thank god she was alright, she thought to herself, giving her daughter a kiss on the forehead. Now, what was Jim's last name? Harrison? Halpert, that was it. She was sure he would be in the phone book. She got up, walked to the door and gave he daughter once last look. What was going on in Pam Beesly's life?

She will be fine, she reassured herself, and left in search of a phone.

* * *

Jim fumbled with his keys, desperately trying to get the right one. Calm down, he told himself. She is fine. Alive. Well. Not in a coma, not missing any important appendages. Jesus, did he grab the right set of keys? Yes, there it was. He finally opened the lock, flung the door open, and bundled inside. The engine sprung to life, instantly lurching his car into a stall. 

He tried again.

He knew he shouldn't drive in his condition. The last thing from his mind was safe driving. Still, he knew that getting a cab at this hour in Scranton would like as not take more time than walking. And he was not waiting, tired or not.

He had spent the last four hours, time which was generally dedicated to the Jim Halpert Sleep Fund, wide awake on his couch in various stages of panic. The dinner, long since forgotten – he didn't even try to make himself eat it – sat in his kitchen, uncovered, in the pan he had cooked it. The TV was on the whole time, on nothing specific; he wasn't watching anyway. His mind had been in overdrive.

The worst part about it was that it wasn't just worrying about what might have happened to them – well, Pam, anyway. No, if that had been it, he would have been able to fly into a more healthy panic, calling hospitals, relatives, and such. But something was had been holding back, the horrifying fear that something bad _hadn't_ happened to Pam. The utter dread – ridiculous, he had told himself, but that hadn't helped – that Pam had made up with Roy. That she _was_making up with Roy. Which was why she had her mobile off, why the last person she was with was Roy, why they both weren't at Roy's house. He had mad sure of that – the place probably had more messages than it had ever held before (knowing Pam and Roy's wild social lives, he jibed weakly).

The fear that she was in some sleazy motel with Roy – he had tried to tell himself she was better than that, but the mental image has stubbornly refused to leave his chaotic mind – had prevented him from doing any of the usual emergency services phone calls. Out of pure embarrassment, he had stopped himself from calling any of Pam's family. The pure shame of finding out that, while he was naively searching for Pam's lifeless body, Roy was bonking her on a stained bed-cover in a thirty-dollar-an-hour room at 'Paradise Motels' – if the image was so unlikely to be true then why couldn't he get it out of his head?! - had prevented him from doing anything other than short bouts of pacing, followed by extensive session of punching anything within reach.

But then he had gotten the call. Now, he was guilty for entirely different reasons; for so easily believing Pam might have ditched his dinner to go back to Roy. And not even message him. Of course Pam was better than that. As he took the exit to Scranton General Hospital, he silently berated himself. How could he think that of her? And all the while she was lying on a bed, seriously injured. She could have died. Well, he thought with a sigh of mingled relief and guilt at being relieved, she hadn't been with Roy. She had received serious head trauma.

"Yay," he said aloud, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The hospital loomed ahead. Pam was awake, her mother – Liz – had said. Had asked to see him. She hadn't known more than that. Jim had had a million questions, but had said only one thing: that he'd be right over.

The street lights zoomed pass. He was only a couple of minutes away. He hoped she would be alright. What had happened with Roy? That dickhead was always driving too fast. Could have gotten Pam killed. Jim hoped he was hurt.

With another sigh, he let out his anger. Pam didn't need him to be irate at Roy for his usual cock-ishness. He remembered the way his heart had sunk to the bottom of his stomach when Mrs. Beesly had called.

"Hello, Jim, is it?"

"Yes?"

"This is Pam's mother, Liz, calling from the hospital." He had been unable to say anything, and an agonising pause had passes – probably only a few seconds, he guessed – until: "She's alright, Jim."

Jim had thanked every deity he could think of, an invented a few, for good measure.

His car pulled into the near-empty car park, and barely remember to kill the engine before he jumped out of the car. The night was dark, but the hospital was – as always – clinically bright. The automatic doors took too long to open. There was one tired-looking girl at the receptionist's desk – a painful reminder of many Monday morning glances at Pam – and he forced himself to a semblance of politeness as he rushed up to the desk.

"Pam Beesly?"

"These aren't visiting hours, sir," the young woman responded without looking up.

"She was just involved in a car accident, and I'm – I'm a close friend. She wanted to see me."

"Oh, Miss Beesly? Sorry, yeah, you can go right up. Room 207." The girl looked a little embarrassed. Jim flashed a tired smile, which he suspected looked more like a grimace, and rushed to the stairs. He took them two at a time.

Room 207. Room 207. There was 203, 204 – was that Roy? Did he care? - 205... He paused. There it was. Deep breath. Turn the handle.

"Jim?"

* * *

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A/N: Another cliffhanger. I am pretty sure there is some sort of law against that. Sorry! Honestly, not doing it on purpose.

New update within the week, as usual. Thanks for reading!


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Extensive Injuries

She looks so fragile. Not light, just... fragile. As if at any moment the thin walls holding her together could collapse, and she would cease to be. As if she was an apparition. Like a ghost. She almost became one, didn't she? Maybe she did. Maybe that was what he was looking at now.

"Pam?"

She rolled over so that she could face him without twisting her head. "I'm going to be late

for dinner."

"Hey, you weren't missing out on much."

"Are you kidding? I bet you had something spectacular whipped up for me."

The shadow of a dimple next to her (bruised, cute) nose argued persistently that this was not Ghost Pam, that the Pam he had talked to over the phone this morning was in fact the same one that was sitting in front of him. He was not yet fully convinced.

"Am I going to be introduced?" asked an unfamiliar voice from behind Jim. He turned to see a not-so-unfamiliar cute button nose.

"Ah, Jim," Pam said, looking inexplicably uncomfortable. "This is my mum."

"You can call me Liz, if you think it is a little early to start calling me mother, Jim," Liz added with a smile.

Jim considered whether this was a shake-hands, hug, or kiss greeting; he settled on an awkward wave.

"I guess we could have met under better circumstances, huh?" Liz moved forward and gently placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "But I'm glad that you are here." She paused, but when it became clear that Jim wasn't talking, she pushed on. "I don't... I am not sure what is going on in Pam's life-"

"Mum," Pam cut in, "Mum, please..."

"-But I am glad that someone is looking out for her, that is all." Pam was silent, and wouldn't meet Jim's eyes. Jim didn't know what else to do: he remained standing. Somewhere outside, on the freeway, a large truck sounded its horn. Liz's eyes shifted rapidly between the two silent people. "Well. Well, I am really thirsty, so I am going to go grab a drink. You know, keep the energy up. I'll... I'll be back in a minute, sweetheart." She glanced up at Jim, tearing her eyes away from her daughter. "You look after her?"

Jim nodded his assent. She left.

* * *

"Mr. Anderson. How are you feeling?"

Roy didn't answer for a moment. He felt like crap. He felt like he had just punched a girl – not just a girl, but _the_ girl, _his_ girl – in the face, crashed his pride and joy into a pine tree, and was lying with way (_way_) too many tubes attached to his body in a sterile room. While some smug shit of a doctor asked him how he was feeling. He felt like a pile of faeces. He felt like it was him, not his beloved truck, that had been totalled by a huge fucking tree.

He decided honesty would get him nowhere, however, with this little dipshit. The last thing he wanted to do was to be subjected to any more tests in this horrible place; better if he could go home as soon as possible.

"Good as new, doc," Roy managed in a horrible rendition of 'grateful patient'.

"Are you sure? No acute pain anywhere? No difficulty moving?"

Roy's insides were probably the definition of acute pain, but he grinned – grimaced – at the balding quack. "No sir, I feel fine. Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix."

The doctor looked him over sceptically. "What about your stomach? I notice before you were starting to develop some bruises there." He leant over, putting slight pressure on Roy's torso through the hospital gown.

"Will you stop poking and prodding me?" Roy barked indignantly. "Get your god-damn fingers off me!"

"S-sure, Mr. Anderson, I just had to-"

"I don't care what you had to do. Just get me out of this place."

"Mr. Anderson, you were just in a very serious motor vehicle collision. You could have extensive internal injuries that we don't know about. The results of your tests aren't back quite yet, so you'll have to stay at least until-"

"Like hell I do! I want to see my Pammy, then I want to get out of here."

The doctor paused, then sighed, resigned. "Fine. I warn you – you are leaving against medical advice. You will have to sign an AMA form, as well as several other declarations that resolve us of any liability in the event that you do still have serious injuries. Which is, at this point, probable."

"Whatever. Get me a pen."

"Fine. If you'll excuse me, I'll be back in one moment."

Roy sagged, relieved, and as soon as the stubborn bastard was out of the room, allowed himself to wince at the pain in his stomach.

* * *

Jim stood for another moment, and then Pam nodded to the chair her mother had just vacated. She noticed the bags under his eyes. "You look tired."

"Someone's serious car accident interrupted my beauty sleep." Pam thought his grin looked rather weak, but she returned it just the same.

"What time is it?"

"Four in the morning."

"Mmm."

Jim looked like he was struggling to speak. His fingers drummed a sporadic tune on the edge of the chair. He stared at the wall to his left, then just as quickly returned his eyes to hers. "What happened?" he pushed out grimly.

Pam held his eyes for a moment, then looked away. "I don't remember. Mum says we hit a tree." She had no idea what to say. She couldn't tell him what Roy had done... she felt her stomach drop at the thought of keeping such a huge secret from Jim.

"Nothing at all?"

What would he do? Pam said nothing, her eyes focused on the same patch of wall his had been. Would he want to tell the police? She couldn't stand Roy being sent to gaol, not on her account, just over a stupid emotional mistake. Pam shuddered at the thought of all her friends, family and co-workers knowing... speculating on how often Pam had been abused before... the thought of her becoming 'Poor Pam'... their general indifference was endurable (sometimes she felt it was even preferable) but she didn't think she could put up with their casual pity...

"Pam?"

But the memory was bubbling away in her mind, and was suddenly all she could think of. Her nose throbbed, slightly syncopated against her heartbeat, as if it were trying to draw attention to itself. Jim... she had to tell...

"We were-" Pam stopped, startled at how seemingly independent of thought her lips were moving. Her eyes flickered to his face and back to the wall again. "He thought that you and I were... I mean, he accused us of being together, while I was pretending to be with him." At the look on Jim's face, she began again, hastily: "He was just being an idiot. When he gets hurt and defensive he starts talking about all sorts of crazy things... I'm sure he didn't really believe it." Jim was still deathly quiet, and Pam didn't know if it was making this easier or harder. She opened her mouth again, only intending to say something meaningless to fill the void of sound. "I yelled at him. I shouldn't have. And he... well... he was just lashing out... and he..." Her voice, which had been unsteady a minute ago, finally degenerated into almost silent sobbing. She forced her wandering eyes to look at Jim once more, and then slowly placed her index finger on the tip of her nose. Comprehension dawned in Jim's eyes.

"He didn't." Jim's voice was roughly drawn from his throat. Pam only stared at her fingers fidgeting in her lap. "He... hit you?" Pam wanted to deny it, but her constricted throat was confirmation enough for Jim. "Pam, I'm so sorry... I don't..." She turned, so he wouldn't have to see the tears his empathy evoked. "How could he-" Jim stood up suddenly. "No more. You can't let him get away with this. This is too far. You have to tell someone."

"Jim, don't! It's not a big-"

"_Not a big deal?!_ Pam, no. This is a big deal. He attacked you. He could have killed you. This is a massive deal." He started to walk out the room.

"Stop! Jim, what are you going to do?" Pam was desperate. She was scared for Jim, but even more scared for what he might do to Roy. Jim was a very passive person, but she had never before seen such a dangerous light in his eyes. He didn't stop.

Jim's voice wafted through the open door. "It's time somebody told Roy what a prick he is."

Pam tried to move from her bed, and a sob escaped her lips as pain shot up though her leg, even through the haze of morphine. She didn't want Jim to stand up to Roy. She just wanted to be done with him.

She heard Jim's hurried footsteps grow quieter, and then the opening of a door. "Come back," she whispered. Even from her bed, the sound of a door latching closed could be clearly heard, echoing through the silent halls of the hospital.

* * *

Jim had had enough of Roy. He had suffered silently for what felt like half of his life, watching Roy mistreat Pam. He had never crossed the line before – the line from asshole boyfriend that you can't do anything about to asshole criminal you _have _to do something about – but he had always been bad for Pam. Jim had seen the way he treated Pam, not like shit, not even intentionally nastily; he just treated her as one would their favourite dog. He tried to do nice things for her, but mostly he couldn't be bothered. He expected her to heel.

Jim's insides were wrought with pain at leaving Pam powerless and confused and desperate in her room, but something had to be done, for her, for both of them. Because he had never had the courage to do anything before Roy crossed the line, had never been able to tell Pam that the man was the world's largest phallus. So he had to leave Pam behind.

Fuck Roy. Jim's footsteps quickened, and he didn't hesitate outside Roy's door, not for composure, not to make a plan. Fuck Roy. He was never,_ever _going to hurt Pam again. He burst through the door.

"Halpert! What the-"

"You know what, Roy? You can shut the fuck up."

"Get the hell out of my room, you-"

"Not listening, Roy. There is no 'I can talk' option here. Do you know why? Do you know what kind of people don't get options to order people out of their rooms? For starters, people who treat their girlfriends like shit for years. Also, people who punch 120 pound girls for things that didn't happen. In fact, even things happening do not give you an excuse to punch women, surprise surprise. And finally, crashing this girl – this wonderful, beautiful girl who has been nothing but nice to you – into a goddamn _tree_ doesn't help. So, no, your speaking privileges have been permanently fucking revoked." Jim took an angry step forward. "You know what gets me? How anyone as amazing as Pam could _ever _end up with a massive fuckup like you. I mean, was-" Jim stopped. Roy's eyes were fluttering closed. "You are falling _asleep? _You have to be kidding me. I'm not done y-" Jim was cut off again, this time by a doctor who barrelled through the door he was blocking. Jim suddenly noticed all of the various machines around Roy were flashing and beeping in an urgent way. A second white-coated man threw himself into the room. "What's going on?" Jim shouted over what had suddenly become a very noisy room. He was ignored. A third doctor rushed through, pausing only for a moment.

"Sir, you have to get out of here. We finally got Mr. Anderson's test results through – he has suffered massive internal injury. We have to get him to the OR!" she finished, the last aimed at her frantic colleagues.

"Jesus, he's been bleeding for hours."

"We can't get him into an OR, he'll have bled out too much before we get halfway there." There was a rattling gasp from Roy's throat, and another beeping alarm started. The same doctor reached for the cart at the side of the bed. "His lungs are gone. I... okay, they must be filling with blood. We have to intubate, or-"

"No time, his heart has already given out. We need a crash cart in here!"

"There's no point, sir. He has been going through massive organ failure for a few minutes."

"There have been miracles before," the older doctor contended firmly.

"His pupils aren't dilating. A clot from one of his injuries must have reached his brain."

"Goddamnit, where is that crash cart?"

And suddenly, the three doctors swivelled to face the door. "Miss..." the younger woman started, then trailed off. The moment stretched, and the beeping of the machines near Roy seemed to fade. Jim suddenly remembered to breathe. He turned around, slowly, reluctantly.

In the doorway was Pam, in a wheelchair. He could see blood trickling down her newly set leg. Her chest was heaving with effort. There was a slight mark on her wrist, a telltale sign of a hastily removed IV line. She had to be in immense amounts of pain, and the post-op morphine shot was a long time ago.

But her face was contorted with an agony which had nothing to do with her leg.

Jim started forward, but a look from Pam froze him in his tracks. The wheelchair edged forward, slowly, and eventually reached the gap that the doctors had made for her at the edge of the bed. Roy – Roy's body – lay on the bed unmoving. She tentatively lifted her hand, its weary movements betraying the extent of Pam's weakness. She touched Roy's cheek, instantly recoiling. Her breath caught, then the sobs began, becoming more desperate, more painful.

A commotion at the door turned her head; Jim saw, with little humour, that it was two younger doctors wielding a large trolley with a lot of expensive-looking equipment. The crash cart had arrive.

Pam's sobs turned to pleas, wrenched from her body with frightening force. "Go away. All of you, please, just go away!"

One of the doctors with the cart began to raise an objection, but the oldest doctor, the 'there-have-been-miracles-before' one, shook his head before they could gather any momentum. "It's too late."

"We have to-"

"Later," he interjected again. "Let's give his girlfriend" - a pronounced sob from Pam, whether of denial or sorrow Jim couldn't tell - "some time."

The younger doctor paused, then acceded to the command, enlisting the help of his colleague to remove the cart from the room. The doctors followed, respectfully composed. The detached looks on their faces were slightly marred with unprofessional sorrow.

Jim did not leave. He watched Pam cry with abandon, leaning over the thing that used to be Roy again. He realised that he was wrong, very wrong. Roy had hurt Pam, one more time, worse than any of the other times.

"Jim, please," Pam managed to say in between gasps. "Please, I have to be alone right now."

He took one last look at Roy Anderson, then left wordlessly, closing the heavy door behind him.

* * *

A/N: Blah, blah, blah, I am lazy, here's a chapter. Sorry for the extensive swearage. And another tense ending. Well, I did say angst, didn't I? 


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